I was just doing my job. I was working my night shift at the convenience store, 7-Eleven, and this guy walked in. He was a shorter guy, with curly, blonde hair. He looked about 15 or 16. He was wearing a blue and white, plaid, button-up shirt, with khaki shorts. To top off the look, he wore neon green, worn-down sneakers, as if they were a hand-me-down. He's harmless. He walked over to checkout a gatorade, a snickers bar, and a jug of milk.
"Hello Sir, welcome to 7-Eleven. Anything you have trouble finding?" I ask, casually.
"Nope," he answers, "I'm Nolan."
"Lily. Nice to meet you," I respond. I proceed to check out his milk, when another man walks in...With a ski mask on. Before I had time to react, he pulled out a gun and shot the milk jug just inches away from me. This one is definitely not harmless. I repeat, not harmless. The boy, now known as Nolan, pushed me to the floor and got on his hands and knees. He crawled around the counter, and whispered, "Sorry, I pushed you kinda hard. I just happen to know that gunshots can be fatal." Wow, he's making jokes now.
"Trust me, I know." I responded. Then I pulled out the handgun I kept hidden under my shirt. You should have seen the look on his face.
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Just My Luck
General FictionNolan Adams, to say in the least, is unlucky. Starting from day 1. He was born February 29th. He only has his true birthday every four years. He's got the short genes, and he's clumsy too. Several broken bones, sprained wrists. Then there...
