Writing Prompt #53

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Writing Prompt #53: He was holding his gun when the police burst through his front door.

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8 thoughts on “Writing Prompt #53

  1. To his own head. “Just leave. I’m done. I don’t know why anyone even bothered to call you. You can come back after you hear the bang.”
    “Please, sir,” said the ranking officer, “Put it down.”
    “What do you care? You don’t know me. I don’t know you and I honestly could care less to know your reasons.” He was completely sober, in spite of his despair. A full bottle of vodka sat on the counter beside him. He hadn’t touched a drop in a long time. “No one wanted to help me when I went asking for help. So what the fuck makes today any different?”
    “I want to understand.”
    “Why? To delay the inevitable? To pretend like you care about anything except your performance review at the end of this ‘incident?’ Well, Officer I-Don’t-Give-A-Fuck-What-Your-Name-Is, I’m sorry you happened to be on duty and I’m sorry someone didn’t want to clean the brains off the ceiling and walls or dig a bullet out of the house, or repaint, or throw away all of my shit or bury what’s left of my body. Nobody gave a shit when I asked for help, and you only want your numbers to look good at the end of the quarter. for the performance evaluations. I’m not a criminal, and I never have been, and even now, when I should be going on a shooting spree to vent my justifiable rage and then committing suicide by cop, I’m still only planning on hurting only myself. So fuck off.”
    “It’s kind of admirable, except at the end of it everyone you leave behind gets to clean up the mess, like you said. I just want to know why, before you go. I haven’t been involved since the beginning of the crisis. I just want to understand.”
    His mind flashed back to better times. And they had been better. But he could hardly remember the last good day. “The beginning? Before the order of life went to utterly chaotic shit? I don’t want to even start.” He knew the earpiece in the guy’s ear was telling the cop whatever shit was on the computer as quick as the speed reader could interpret it. “I want to leave in peace and I don’t want to traumatize all of you gentlemen and ladies by making you watch. Please. Just go.” He held up the other hand, gesturing for the negotiator to keep whatever was next to himself. And then gestured toward the door. “If they really cared, they wouldn’t take me for granted and they’d be here now to apologize, and they’re not even here. If my boss really cared about anything other than the company’s bottom line they wouldn’t be hiring the next set of schmucks at three cents more an hour than they’re willing to pay me after my years of experience and training. So fuck the idiot boss, and fuck the idiot company, and fuck the family, and fuck you, and fuck the world. The time for caring about me came and went a long time ago, and I figured out nobody did.”
    “Who else did you ask for help?”
    “God.”
    “So can you say, with absolute faith, that God didn’t send help? Because I’m here to help. He’s kind of a last minute kind of dude, if you ever read about Lazarus.”
    “I asked Him not to treat me like that. But there haven’t been affirming answers in so long I’ve been dead inside for a lot longer than four days. It’s too late. Just go. You can come back when I’m gone. And, my compliments to you or your comm person in your ear for resurrecting Lazarus. Try that on me after I’m gone.”
    “I’m not anywhere close to powerful enough to do that. So I’m just going to stay right here until you tell me what would get you to put the gun down.”
    “You’re not anywhere close to powerful enough to offer me that. But I’d share my bottle of vodka with you before I go. You pour, since I only have one hand free.”

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