The Gracious Gunman

(The Princess)

Hey. Feedback is greatly appreciated, though I understand if there is just too much hustle bustle in those vigorous lives of yours.
Tell me what you think.
But really.

Let me paint a picture for you. I’m sitting in a beat up 1994 Ford Tempo. The air is on high. The windows are shut and locked. I’m in a gas station parking lot. It has 6 pumps, all self-serv. My left leg is shaking. Scratch that, both legs are shaking. I’m too tired to be here, but I am. My palm is sweaty around the gun in my hand. I have power, but really I have none.

I turn the car off. I swig from a vodka bottle that is 90% water. The trees outside sway, which means there’s a breeze, so I step out of the car to catch it before it passes. I lock the door behind me. I’m enveloped in humidity. The trees lied.

By now I presume it’s past 9, because I left at 5 and Pennsylvania is 4 hours away and I've been sitting here for a while. The road is barely occupied. In fact, it’s barely visible. The streetlights are dull. They have no power, but they think they do. I try to tune out the crickets. I focus on the trees. They sway. They lie. They lie as they sway, because there’s no wind down here.

I shove the gun in my back pocket. I walk toward the mini mart. In there is four men, two women. Or, more accurately: four boys, two girls, because they think they’re tough and have power, but they don’t. No, they don’t.

I find the freezer section and feign interest in the selection. A blonde girl chews gum obnoxiously loud. I wander toward the next aisle. Another blonde, taller, stays still in front of me. She's examining something. She doesn’t notice me.

“Hey, let’s get these." A boy at the register looks up.

“Don’t we have enough?”

A different boy, shorter and skinner, says, “Yeah. No new shit. Aight?”

I walk around the girl, into the next aisle. The girl scoffs. She throws the object on the counter anyway.

A brunette boy in a letter jacket adds to the pile.

“Why the hell not?”

“Cause we’re saving, asshole.” That was the first boy.

A third girl with brick red hair joins them. I watch and stroll to aisle four.

“What for?” she says.

They all look about 20.

The second boy talks again. “Fair enough. The account is deep.”

“That’s because it’s not yours.” I’m not looking.

“So.”

“He’s solid in his alibi, anyway.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“How much we got?”
“A good 500.”

“Fine.”

“Come on! On me!”

Someone’s playful shriek pieces my ear. It’s the sound of power.

“Get that.”

“Ew.”

“Shut up.” Well, seeming power.

“This.”

“No.”

“Yeah!” They think they are boundless, free, powerful.

“Stop. The other one.”

“Throw it here.” Don’t we all? Don’t we all?

“Ready?” Ready.

“That.”

“The green.” Who will tell them the truths? Who will set the trees straight?

“Come.”

“Come on.”

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s go.”

“Grab that.”

“Dude.”

“Okay.”

“Woo!” I’ll help you all.

“Got it?”

“The bag, man.” I’ll save you.

The noises begin to fade, the door chimes once.

I cock the trigger. The noises cease.

“What was that.” Like a statement, just like that, clueless and mindful, but not really either.

“So ungrateful,” I say. “So, so ungrateful.”

“Sir-“

“Kid.”

I put the trigger to the brunette’s temple.

“Let me help you with that.”

I take the bags. The girls glance at the cashier. He is crouched behind the counter, as irrelevant as he is helpful.

“I don’t want your money.”

“Ready?”

The kid’s eyes are made 90% of fear. The remaining 10 is everything else, greed, power. Or lack thereof.

The boy is shaking now. They all are. This is good. I see it in all their eyes, wishing they’d been more aware, regretting all those times they talked back, cheated, lied, like the trees.

“Listen.”

The gun is unloaded, but they don’t know that. I have all the power, and also none of it.

I wipe my upper lip.

“I will make you grateful.”

“So, so grateful.”
I have all the power.

I pull the trigger.

“Go.” They bolt.

But really none of it.