I’m not dead (but dang life has gotten in the way of writing)

I had been so good at updating my blog. Had been.

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But the last two weeks, life has kicked my every loving butt. Horrible allergies, doctor visits, work, and a crack down with the realization that I had the GRE in a week (which I took this wednesday…since I’m insane enough to want to go get my doctorate…) turned me into a nutcase who hasn’t touched a book or wrote in a notebook for almost a week.

But thank the lord, the stress has passed and I am back!

Before my week of hair-pulling, mind numbing studying, I did have a fun little project that I finished with a couple of my friends I have met on WordPress. We completed a share world exercise. The scene is a robbery as a bank.  My two pieces are from the robbers pov.

Holy hell this mask was hot. No wonder robbers were always pissed off.

I lingered behind Mack, my heart pounding as they raced into the arching doorway. The history etched into every inch of this sleeping beast, seemed almost too pristine to disturb, like when I was an altar boy sneaking in for sip of communion wine.  Was Father Amison waiting on the other side, paddle in hand?

But I had no other choice. The bills were piling so high, I could wallpaper the flat and still have a stack left over.  Besides, I wasn’t really stealing from anyone. Banks are insured, right? All I was doing was taking from a namelessly corporation that would do the same to me.  

My feet seemed to melt into the floor with my foot step through the double doors. They slammed behind me, filling my ears with its hollow echo, quickly followed by high pitched shirks.

“Get down now!” Mack screamed, his voice deep and dead.

“Yeah,” I added. “…This is a robbery…”

Mack headed to the counter. I flank him, standing several feet back. He was screaming at some old man.  Everyone was crouching, cowering with fear. I wanted to join them, jump behind a counter and shrink into the building.  

We don’t have time for your bickering Mack. Stop the macho bullshit.

I wanted to smack him. We had agreed. Quick and easy. In and out. No one gets hurt.  But of course if someone challenged Mack, he could never back down.

My hand tightened on the trigger.

“Mack.” I growled.

Bam.

“Holy fuck, we agreed no blood.”  I screamed.

The old man slumped over in slow motion as my mouth dropped, a gapping hole where his stomach should be, Mack’s macabre masterpiece.

I raced over, jumping behind the counter. The man groaned, fighting the inevitable.

 My lungs burned. I should smack Mack upside the head.

Instead, my hand reached for the cash. Maybe 50 dollars. Maybe 50000. I didn’t matter anymore. As I raced out the front door, the noon day sun burning my eyes. And I knew.

This wasn’t what I signed up for.

—–

Mack pulled out his flask and guzzled.  Relax, he told himself, this is just like shooting rabbits with dad. He straighten his mask, catching the reflection in his flask, smiled and shoved open the door.

“Get down now!” His voice boomed.

Blood coursed through his veins, as he inhaled the scene. All eyes on him, center stage, everyone cowering, as it should be.

“Where the fuck is the cash?” He screamed. “If you don’t wanna die, I’d fucking get it out right quick.”

Mack glanced behind him. Tom followed him like a beat dog. Wuss.

“I know you are old but are you deaf too?”

Mack spotted the lone straggler. He stood tall, proud, definitely.

“Get down!” Mack screamed. “I said get down.”

His dad first took him hunting when Mack was five, maybe six.  He could barely hold the gun. With each step, trudging through the forest mud, Mack thought how easily he could accidentally shot his father.

The alcove Mack and his father came to was more beautiful than Mack’s mind could comprehend. The perfect balance of nature is what he’d later tell hookers when he got too drunk.  In the middle of the arching forest, mist rising, he saw the most beautiful creature. She stared at him. He was sure,  she had. But she didn’t run. Instead she bent her head down to take a drink from the rippling pond.

“Shot the bitch,” His father said.

Mack froze.

“Pussy.” His father said. He grabbed Mack’s gun.

Bang.

The deer’s eye frozen on Mack as she fell to the ground.

Bang.

“Holy fuck, we agreed no blood.”  Tom screamed.

Smoke burned Mack’s nostrils.

Read one of the other stories here

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13 comments on “I’m not dead (but dang life has gotten in the way of writing)

  1. Pingback: Robbers Delight | A Simple Wordsmith

  2. Reblogged this on Virtually Riki and commented:
    Boy can I relate to this blog post. Between getting sick and spending time with family, it’s been tough to get my writing done since summer started.

    At least I am not stuck though. That is the worst!

  3. Youre consequently cool! I dont presume Ive examine anything like this before. Therefore nice to discover somebody with many original the thing it this topic. realy thank you for starting this upwards. this website is one thing that is needed on the net, someone with some originality. beneficial job for delivering something new to the net!

  4. Pingback: I’m not dead (but dang life has gotten in the way of writing) | Meta Masters

  5. Pingback: I’m not dead (but dang life has gotten in the way of writing) | Meta Masters

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