Did you fuggin piss yerself? Jesus Christ.
Yes ser I did, the boy said. He was probably about 19, 21 at most. The skinny bald man in the wifebeater with face tattoos stood over the boy with a .45 Glock pressed to the kid's forehead. The rural gas station was empty unless you count the two dead bodies slumped over the gambling machines.
Where's the generator boy?
It's out back ser. By the propane tank. The boy's voice was shaky and weak. He was looking down at the floor and held his hands up. They were trembling. The man pushed the gun harder into his head.
I sayed where's. the. fucking. generator. boyyyah. He was loud and angry and spit flew out his mouth.
The kid looked up and for the first time made eye contact with the man. His eyes were big. Wild. Teardrop under one. They darted back and forth. Full of hate.
All right. The man said. Well boy god have you in 10 seconds.
I don't understand ser. The boy said.
8 seconds.
Please ser. The boy said trembling.
6 seconds.
The boy thought about his girlfriend brittney and their baby son Remington. How would they survive without him.
4 seconds.
Please mister, the boy pleaded, I have a son.
2 seconds.
I'm gonna marry his mom next month. The boy cried out desperately.
The bald man turned his head and grinned.
"Not no more"
Boooooooooooooooooooooom
YOU ARE READING
Methed out skinheads from Missouri
Short StoryWith a sinister force at work in the background. A spree killing kicks off a horrible chain of events in the backwoods of Missouri leading to a showdown between the forces of good and evil.
