The Nod: Chapter 7. “Bullets”


“We have everything?”

“I’m good.”

“Yup.”

“Is your gun loaded?”

“No. Is your gun loaded?”

“Of course it is. Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?”

“We’re not here to kill people.”

“No. We’re here to rob that mother fucker,”

A shake of the head.

“But if someone is going to be shooting at me, I want to be able to shoot back.”

“If you kill someone, it’s on your hands. Not mine.”

“I’ve killed before.”

“Right. I forgot. Big time war hero.”

“Listen, asshole. I’m not about to die for this. This is it. This is our big chance.”

“And you need bullets for this?”

“We’re robbing a bank.  I’m not taking the chance. But what you do with your gun is your business.”

*

“There’s not much more we can do to you.”

“Besides kill you that is.”

“And that helps no one.”

The smell of the gun is strong.

“So. Either it was you. Or she took the money.”

“Which one is it?”

Two bodies sit in silence. Both Bleeding.

“We can always take the fingers off her other hand. That got you talking once.”

“Leave her alone. She didn’t take the money.”

“Who did?”

“My brother.”

A heavy sigh.

“You know what? Fuck it. Kill her.”

The gun fires.

*

Murder is a hard thing to overcome.

You fall asleep and then you kill.

You know the person in the nightmare. Know them. Maybe love them. Hate them.

It doesn’t matter.

Nightmares don’t discriminate.

You feel a bit off when he approaches you. You know something is wrong. You know he will hurt you.

You want to act.

You can’t.

Until.

There is a springboard moment in nightmares. It’s all fear and panic.

Then a snapshot.

He’s on his knees facing the wall. Your hand is on the back of his head.

You feel no emotion.

You slam, over and over. Trying to wake yourself up with each hit as his head gets softer and softer.

But it’s never over.

He may be faceless. But he gets back up. True horror movie style.

He hasn’t changed. His face is back. The nightmare has hit rewind and you are back to step one.

You don’t have to wait this time.

You attack with all you have.

A single brick to the face knocks out teeth.

You long to hold his head underwater.

To rip out his throat.

Emotions are becoming overwhelming.

Hate breeds with each fist and foot that breaks bone and skin.

And all of a sudden killing isn’t enough.

Nightmare-ideas run past. Castration. Decapitation. Things need to be more violent.

You wake up, disgusted.

You look in the mirror unsure of who is looking back.

You’re too afraid to sleep.

Next time.

Next time will you be killed?

Will you kill?

Sleep is too unpredictable.

*

“Why can’t you wear a normal mask like the rest of us?”

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s a fucking bunny.”

“Just leave him alone and let’s do this. We don’t have much time.”

Three people enter the bank. Two have their faces hidden under black masks.

One is hidden under a bunny mask.

A scream.

A command.

Everyone drops to the ground, hiding their faces, holding out their money.

One black mask gathers wallets and watches.

The other makes his way to the vault with the bunny.

Duffels are loaded.

A gun goes off in the vault.

A black mask fills with blood.

All goes quiet.

Another gunshot and the vault guard dies.

The bunny runs out with the bags, grabs the other black mask and runs out the door.

Sirens in the distance.

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About litbandit

El Bandito Bibliotequa...or something.
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