Home > prose and poetry > dad, i found something!

dad, i found something!

This one’s pretty long, and I don’t know if it’s much good or not. Something different from what I’ve written so far.

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Fuck.

I was bleeding like a stuck pig.

The psycho actually shot at me! Bastard!

I ran as fast as I could, knocking over trashcans and cones and the odd bum or two.

Where the fuck is he?

I kept looking back to see if he was on my tail. I couldn’t see him, but that didn’t make me any calmer. If anything, it made me even more scared.

And I kept running.

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck! This hurts!

The bullet was firmly lodged in my abdomen, sending sharp bursts of pain through my entire body every time I landed on one of my feet. But it wasn’t the time to roll over and cry out for mommy, complaining how much it hurt. No.

I had to run, and run I did.

All the while, I was sure he was behind me. Somewhere.

Perhaps if I was in a more rational state of mind I would have tried to find someplace to hide, but try being rational when you’ve got a fucking .45 in your fucking stomach with right fucking lunatic chasing after you.

Just fucking try.

Fuck, this is getting tiring.

I put my body on auto-pilot as I tried to somehow make heads or tails of what had occurred just moments before.

It all happened so fast. Cliché, yes, but true-as-God regardless. As I skipped past another worthless bum, things started coming back to me: “payback” for some long-forgotten deed, the glint of stainless steel reflecting a far-off streetlight, a “do you feel lucky, punk?” before the unmistakable report of a Colt 1911 shattered the still night air.

“Watch where you’re going, you dumb kid!”

I sent a bum flying. No time to apologize, I had to run.

My mind drifted back to the moment I got shot. I’d always imagined that it’d hurt like all hell, but I didn’t actually feel anything much until a good while after. Adrenalin, I guess?

Run, rabbit, run!

I still remembered the sneering tone in his voice as he told me he’d give me a “head start.” I don’t know how much time a “head start” consitutes, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t go and read Shakespeare over a leisurely supper at some restaurant.

I really don’t know why he didn’t finish me off. I guess he wanted to hunt me down. It felt almost… demeaning, actually, going from “vermin” to big-city game.

Shit, I can’t fucking see!

My vision started becoming darker. I’d lost quite a bit of blood, and coupled with all the running I was doing, I guess it wasn’t much of a surprise.

Fuck… so… tired…

I couldn’t go on any more. My head was getting light, and the buildings around me started spinning. I stumbled into a dark side-alley, knocking over even more trashcans in my dazed state. My knees buckled and I fell to the hard concrete, coughing up blood as soon as I hit the ground.

Now this is starting to hurt. Ow ow ow. I’m done for…

I rolled over onto my back, arms outstretched, gasping for air. I knew it was all coming to an end.

In the course of my very short life, I never stopped and took time to relax, to enjoy the simple things such as looking up at the starry night sky. I was always “too busy.” But right then, in my dying moments, that was all I could think of.

But, irony of ironies, it was a cloudy night.

Fuck. Very funny, God.

As I lay there, dying, I composed my first ever prayer to God.

Dear God, please, please, please don’t let that bastard find me. I don’t want to go out like that. I don’t.

Please.

I cried for the first time in my life that night. I had always boasted of not fearing death even if it looked me in the eye, but now I wasn’t so sure. I was afraid.

Deathly afraid.

Just as things were getting dark, I heard footsteps. Slow, calm, sober footsteps.

I think I pissed myself right then and there.

I didn’t see who it was, but I had a very good idea as to whom those footsteps belonged to. I tried to lift myself up, to see if my hunch was right.

It was. My mind started racing. All manner of vociferations raced through my mind, the choicest ones aimed at God.

He stopped a couple of metres in front of me and looked around as if he was sniffing the air. At that moment I was sure he’d find me and proceed to gleefully place a .45 ACP in between my eyes, but somehow, for whatever reason, he walked onwards.

He didn’t see me!

If I wasn’t that badly injured and hadn’t lost so much blood, it’d have been called a “lucky break.” But for me, there was nothing lucky about it.

I was going to be dead anyway. But, at least, it would be of my own accord.

I lay back down, smiling, with tears in my eyes. But they were tears of joy and relief, not of sadness.

Sorry, God. Heheh.

…Look, I was panicking, alright? Sheesh…

Someone called out to me: “Hey man, you alright?” I heard footsteps coming my way, irregular, slow, fucking drunk.

I raised my hand in an attempt to get him to piss off and mind his own business.

And then all went black.

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