The sort of nightmare that you awake from screaming...
lyrics
It’s somewhere in California. I am sitting waiting – waiting for my order in a pizza joint. The place has an old style look about it – black and white checkered tiling on the floors, clinical white walls and big glass windows stretching from floor to ceiling. They let the late afternoon sun stream in.
It’s a popular place. I am one of a dozen people, all seated, and waiting for the girl behind the counter to yell out their number. Half-hearted laughter comes from near the counter. A young guy has made some sort of joke and suddenly stands up.
He is sandy-haired and tanned, and wears faded jeans and a short denim jacket over a green tee-shirt. He is also skinny and stunted – the sort of kid who got bullied in school, although that experience must be a few years behind him now. Or perhaps not…
I am the first to notice the pistol he pulls from his jacket pocket – a snub-nosed Beretta, with the safety catch off. Within a second or two, others have noticed it too.
He doesn’t look back as he turns to walk towards the entrance. He’s coming my way, as I am seated next to the door.
There’s an expression of intent on his face: a man with something on his mind. He’s looking forward but not at anything in particular, like the scene is just some giant blur he can’t focus on. He walks with a slouch, one hand still in his jacket pocket. The jacket’s out of place. No one else in the room is wearing one, except me.
He swivels his free hand, the one holding the gun, as he walks in a long curved trajectory towards the door. His arm swings up to level the gun and, for a moment, it’s pointed at a woman sitting beside me, but then, abruptly, it shifts and is pointing at me.
He approaches with the gun aimed straight at me, his face on automatic, no emotion showing. No words are uttered as he closes in. He is not looking at me – he is gazing beyond me, through the wall I am leaning against, and off into infinity.
There’s no time for escape, no room for manoeuvre, no possibility of fighting back.
Then he pulls the trigger and the sound engulfs me.
credits
from Scorched Earth Days,
released December 1, 2012
(c) Wayne Stuart McCallum
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