Book Of Short Stories

Gone

When his drool-infested face lifted from the countertop, he shook his head to rid himself of drowsiness. The back of his head thumped, and he groaned.

"Oh, God." Tom wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and as he moaned again, his stomach growled. And not because he was hungry. "Where the hell... Why... Why am I at Burger King?"

He couldn't remember the last time he felt so sick to his stomach. His burp tasted like onions and french fries, a combo he hardly ever ate. Tom must have fallen asleep for his breath to smell like sardines and stomach to rumble. Gathering his jacket, he glanced, once more, around the fast food joint.

Not a single soul.

Tom felt a queasiness bubble around and rushed to the nearest bathroom for some kind of release. God, he thought, never again would he order the supreme combo. Those people tried to scam him out of his money for something as disgusting and nauseating as a burger and fries. But he couldn't help but ravish when presented to a greasy meal.

After a ten minute break on the toilet, Tom washed his hands and pushed his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. Huh, he wondered, the sun had already begun to set, yet the manager still hadn't come to kick him out like usual.

He peeked through the blinds. The streets were vacant besides the constant blow of leaves or a piece of paper every once in a while. Tom cupped his hand around his ear and took a deep breath.

"Hear that, Tom?" he muttered, eyes widening and smile growing with every passing second. "Peace and quiet."

However, he knew, unfortunately, people would rush in and make noise. For some reason, that didn't seem so bad. He had all he could ever want in front of him, and being the friendless guy he was, he wasn't unhappy with the idea of people coming back.

Tom opened his eyes and broke a few blinds. No one could punish him if no one was here. He smirked and slid condiments off tables while drinking soda from the machines. Without a cup. His chubby fingers lodged inside a half open cash register and pocketed all the bills he could carry.

Power. Control. It'd been some time since he felt something so... So stimulating. Almost like the time he robbed a bank. He didn't get too far, though. His lack of a daily workout plus the constant consumption of fast food made him able to only run a few yards before nearly passing out in front of the cops.

As he nabbed a box of french fries off a counter, a familiar pat pat came from outside. Tom jogged (and huffed) to gaze through the broken blinds. And then he cursed a dozen times. Someone else was out in the middle of the road. A small kid, to be exact.

Tom was only able to zip his jacket halfway before running (and puffing) to reach the quivering child. "Why're you here?"

"AH!" The devilish boy reacted by booting Tom in between his legs.

He fell on his knees and clutched his throbbing section. "What the hell?! Fucking kids, ah! Goddammit!"

"You're not gonna hurt me?" whispered the small boy.

"I will if you kick me like that again," Tom almost whimpered. He tightened his closed eyes and braced his teeth, the pulsing no where near calming down. "You just... Just gonna stand there?"

The boy took two steps back and shook his head. "I-I couldn't find my mom. Do you know - "

"Kick a guy in the sack and expect a straight answer? Idiot." Tom subtly massaged himself.

"Do we have to trade or something? My name's Jack. What about you?"

The deep throb started to simmer down, and Tom finally unclenched himself, rising to his feet. He could just barely see the kid's face over his stomach.