glares and snares

the boy walked into the drugstore like he had so many times before but today was much different from the rest. most of his prior trips had been for some cigarettes, a drink, etc. you get the idea. the boy, not a man, has a name but that is not what is important. what is important is that this nameless, faceless kid finally feels purpose. he has confidence. he knows exactly what he is doing with his life. he is happy. he walks around the store with a certain rhythm in his step that cannot be matched. everyone is reassured and comforted by his new found confidence, smiling and making small talk. the boy purchases a bottle of coca cola. opening it, he does so with so much attention that a mother may give a child. every drink taken is enjoyed more than the last. all this is done while talking to the man he somewhat knows behind the counter. finally, the worker asks the boy, "so whats up with this good mood that your in? your practically lighting up the store with that glow." and the boy takes another satisfying drink from his bottle of coca cola, he looks the man in the eyes. not searching for an answer at all, just looking at him the way a teacher may look at a student who should know the obvious answer. seeing that the man would not be figuring it out any time soon the boy began the explanation, "have you ever ran cross country?" "well, i did a lil bit in high school but shoot, that was ages ago."
"that's fine. well you see, i used to run cross country. one race is five kilometers, a little bit more than three miles."
"yeah, i know. what does that have to do with this?"
"well, if you'll kindly let me finish ill get to that. anyway, whether you were the best runner on the team or the one of the worst like myself you always got the same feeling at the end of of the race. for about three miles you have been running your ass off. the only thing that has been going through your head is how much you loathe being in cross country. people are passing you, others on the sidelines are yelling at you, your just beat. but after all of that pain. and after all of that suffering. and after all of that humiliation. you reach the last stretch of the race. you can see the end, its right there and you are almost done. while running the last stretch of the race, you are the happiest you have ever been. you, are almost done."
"so are you saying you just ran a race?"
the boy answers this with the smallest trace of a smirk. the way you smile when your getting away with something, the way you smile when you know something that no one else knows, the way you smile when you just don't give a shit.
"ha no not at all, that was a metaphor. i am almost done."
as he is finishing his well delivered reply, he pulled out the 20 gauge shotgun from behind his coat that he spent all last night sawing down the barrel and sawing off the stock for easy concealment. not in that order of course, one does not want to wear down his hacksaw on the barrel before he gets to the stock. in one swift movement of pulling out the firearm and cocking the first barrel he points it directly at the clerks chest from near point blank range. the other customer in sight would have been deeply mentally scarred for perhaps the rest of his life if the next barrel had not been used on him. two shells ejected, two more go in. right now, the reverberating sound of both shots is not what the boy is thinking about. nor is he wondering what the response time of the police is. or if he will be able to take any more life, before taking his own. nor is he thinking of the left coat pocket full of shells. no, all he is thinking of is the right coat pocket which contains just one shell. he starts walking by the aisles as if he were trying to find a movie to rent. just very distanced attachment. he finds another boy, perhaps a similar age. a look on his face that most people will never see another human being make. saying things that most will never hear another human being say. and with the passing of a second and a slight kick from the sawed off he is no longer one with the living. the boy offs a few more of the druggists and customers but is soon out of ammunition. that is beside the one shell in his right pocket. he calmly motions over to a chair with his weapon, letting a man who unlike the boy will still be alive in ten minutes, know exactly what he is supposed to do. the man sits down and he is very shocked, he is very afraid, and he is very confused. the boy ejects the spent shells from the weapon and loads the single shell into the left barrel and cocks the gun. the warm barrel resting underneath his own chin, he looks this stranger directly in the eyes. he has no intention of speaking. he already had his last words. before he pulls the trigger, the man meets this boy's gaze. and while holding back an ocean of emotion, he swallows and says, "truly, i am the unlucky one." the boy pulls the trigger the second the last syllable leaves the man's mouth. you can imagine what a twenty gauge shell of buck shot will do to a man's skull at point blank range. the police arrived shortly after all of this takes place. the man still sitting where he was ten minutes earlier. not saying anything. no look on his face. after the paramedics made sure that he was all right and sent him off, his wife embraced him saying how lucky he was. he didn't say anything back, not wanting to contradict her. she takes a half step back, "are you going to be OK?" he stops for a second to think and finally looks her in the eyes and says, "i'm going to be fine. i'm almost done."