one last time

i

*

'Twas the night before Christmas Eve, when somewhere in LA,

a gang of criminals were busy plotting and planning away.

Machine guns were lined up in the back of a truck,

and a penthouse of Germans were praying for luck.

Hans Gruber was pacing, locked up in his tower,

checking lists thrice and fiercely doubting his power.

*

Hans Gruber had retired to his penthouse suite after calling one last meeting to review the following day's heist.

Time and time again he had gone over the step-by-step itinerary in his little black book, and each time his associates assured him it was entirely foolproof and failsafe.

You've spent years planning this. You've thought of everything. Christmas Day will arrive and you'll be on a beach earning twenty percent, he thought to himself.

Hans paused his pacing to wring his hands and stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the standstill holiday traffic down below. Neon lights shone from every corner, and in the distance, the Hollywood Hills reflected a lush green in the setting sun.

If I were home in Germany, perhaps we might have snow by now. It is entirely too hot here for it to feel anything like Christmas.

The extravagant penthouse suddenly appeared to be taller by a thousandfold, and the sounds of traffic seemed equally so much closer. Every sensation was amplified, and Hans jumped as the central air conditioning kicked in.

The city skyline began to blur. Hans raised his hands to cover his ears in an attempt to calm the warm and fuzzy ringing feeling that was quickly growing in his head. Something turned in his stomach and he stumbled to make it to the bathroom before his tenderloin steak dinner made a less-than-fashionable reappearance.

Hans wretched over the toilet but nothing came up. Quickly losing his balance he crashed to the stone floor, smacking his head hard against the wall of the glass shower door. He reached out in a futile attempt to grasp the toilet seat- his sweaty palms slipped and landed on the ground. Beads of sweat had begun to form all over his body, but he felt strangely cold.

Uncontrollable spasms began to heave his body as he scrambled to his hands and knees, shoving a finger down his throat in an attempt to relieve his stomach from the churning storm inside. No matter how hard he gagged, nothing seemed to want to escape from his tightening throat. This further fed his anxiety and suddenly, he couldn't breathe.

Hans whimpered as he began to lose consciousness- the cold and unforgiving floor sending chills through his bones before he finally blacked out, his body slumped over stone and porcelain.