we are one-thirtyeight (mephistopholese) wrote in emotions_exist,
we are one-thirtyeight

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This is the end of everything

First post, lookin to get stamped:

"Fuck" was the only word that came to mind. I kept running, not expecting to make it past the day. "Fuck", I uttered repetitiously. I found a small gap to encave. I watched the police go by, thinking to myself, it wasn't supposed to go this way. Simple in and out, the authorities weren't supposed to have any part of this. I, Franko that is, was supposed to be the driver of the get-away car, hell of a lot of good for that. The entire place turned into a fucking bullet fest. People dropping left and right. I tried to drive off as fast as I could, but there was no point, the fucking pigs had the place surrounded. I had to shoot my way out, nearly got my ass killed. Wasted a few of them though. That was the best part, watching their bodies go from a full spectacle to life, that grew from a whelp to a man, drop limp to the floor over some drugs, diamonds, and money, something it didn't have anything to do. Stupid fuckers, should keep to their own. It was just supposed to be a common diamond stealin' job, quick, in out deal, no bullets fired, so some big cat could make some money to fund his drug ring. The fucking cops weren't even supposed to know about it till we were in the rendezvous, or at least on the way to it. God damnit, they probably fucked up my beautiful car with all those bullets flying everywhere. I saw Bobby get wasted. Now that pissed me off, his fucking brains flew everywhere and got the whole place messy. Damnit though, he deserved it. He's the whole reason this shit turned into a bloodbath. This wasn't a diamond heist, this was a fucking massacre. I think I'm the only who made it out, not in a bag. Joe and Mike were in the back, where I saw a tear 'nade fly, so I know they're fucked. Now it's all about survival. If I can stay alive, I can make it to Mexico, and get the hell out of this place. I ran out of the gap, and started to run to the rendezvous. That was a fucking mistake. Now I'm runnin' through god damn civilians, that are about to have a bad mother fucking day, but I guess if I have too, they'll suffer with me. More cops catch up to me so I start throwin' the fucking civilians behind me, of a like blockade from the cops bullets. Turn a corner and turn around and raise my desert eagle, two of the cops after me turn the corner. Stupididly I waste an entire clip into both of them, and towards the end of the magazine, the rest of the fuckers start showin' up. So I make for a good ol' automobile, take this from a god damn foot chase to the road, my forte. I start runnin' down, reinstating the body blockade as I run, scoping out for a fast car. I chuckle as I see a red sports car with a soccer mom in the driver seat, trying to start the car. I break through the glass, all horror show, screaming fucked up shit to the stupid bitch who screached and screached. I had to throw the idiot out of the fucking car manually. I got in, and started the damn thing up. As I shifted into first gear I heard a shot, probably the last thing I heard. A bullet tore into my temple and buried itself into my brain. I didn't get a chance to think, or move, or shout in pain. My face just went into a shocked form, then relaxed and my body slunched over. And there I went, after enjoying the death of others, droning on in my mind about their worthless lives, growing up from whelp form to man to nothing. I guess that's it for me. But the real question is, where the fuck did that bullet come from. There was another scream and a smoking gun, and all I saw as I faded, was an undercover cop from some other job, standing in a shooting stance, watching me die. Fucking complications.

I haven't written short stories in a while. It's supposed to be fast pace and try and imagine it happening while being told by some slick New York accent. So really it's supposed to be something you'd here in the part of hell with the Mafia, hehe.

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