An Evening To Remember (594 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.27 on 13 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Master_Chef (View user info) at 2008-11-17 20:13:52 EST
Jack woke up slowly.
The sound of his alarm was like a jackhammer behind his eyes. He slowly and groggily sat up and turned it off.
11:00
He had work in an hour, but would like nothing more then to crawl back into bed and wait for his headache to pass. He didn't. Instead he swung his legs over the side of his bed and looked at himself in the mirror by the door. His greasy hair and unshaven face stared back at him, taunting him with its filth. He got unsteadily to his feet and walked to the door in nothing but his stained underwear, kicking aside the empty bottle of Jack Daniels by the side of his bed as he did so.
Weaving and cursing the world, he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He brushed his teeth half heartedly while he waited for the water to heat up. He got in, the spray hit his face and body, running down and forming a grey foam at the bottom of the tub. While he showered he masturbated. He got out and dried himself, walking back to his room as he did so. The walk wasn't long, his flat only had three rooms, and the fact that his bathroom was en suite did not make him feel any better about living there.
He took his work uniform off the chair by his bedroom door and put it on, black shirt, black trousers, black shoes and black socks. It was the only outfit he washed every night, a point made perfectly clear when he turned up for his second shift with a pizza stain on the shirt. He could still hear Richard's voice telling him to have some damn self respect or he'd be "back on the nat king cole" before he knew what had hit him.
Sighing and cursing once again, he shoved his apron into his backpack and walked over to the bed, he reached under it and pulled out a cardboard box, took out the contents and tucked them carefully into the small pocket on the inside of the bag. That done, he turned on his heel and walked to the front door, pausing only to pick up his cigarettes and keys.
He walked out of his front door and down the two flights of stairs. as he left the building the sunlight hit his eyes like twin punches, but he did not pause. Instead he lit a cigarette and smoked it down while he walked, it made him feel better, clearer.
He entered the restaurant through the back door, only inches away from the open bin, its lid propped open with scores of bags filled with slowly rotting food. He weaved through the kitchen, nodding to the chefs who acknowledged him, and went into the corridor to his locker. He tucked his bag away, pulled out his apron and put it on, sliding the small pencil and notepad into the front pocket. Locked up, and went about his work.
His work that day was done in a daze. Having done it for a four months now, he rarely had to think about it. Take order, bring drinks, take order, put it into the till, wait for the bell, bring food to table. He did not even feel the resentment he had felt on his first few shifts. The unfairness of being spoken to like some kind of hybrid child/slave, serving people food and drinks he would never be able to afford, and for what? So he could stay two months behind on the rent instead of easing into three?
When the clock over the bar finally slid over to five, he made his way back to his locker. Took out his pencil and notebook, and replaced them with the items he had stashed in the back pocket that morning. The reasuring weight felt good against his thigh as he strode back out into the restaurant.
He stood in the doorway and looked around, the eating area was still around half full. That meant about fifty, fat, overfed, pompous arseholes were stuffing their faces with food they were to lazy to prepare themselves. Food smothered in balsamic dressing and honey and mustard sauce, steak glistening with blood that oozed down their chins. Now he had reached the moment he had dreamed of, he could not stop the feelings he held at bay for so long. He screamed.
It was a scream to end all screams, full of fury, pain and the pent up suffering he had held inside for over twenty years now, and as his scream petered out, he took his hand out of his pocket.
The crome slide of the glock 17 gleamed in the afternoon sun coming through the windows. He smiled. He smiled at the condesending patrons, he smiled at Danni, the girl behind the bar that looked at him with nothing but contempt, and finally he smiled at Richard.
His patronising manager was the first to go, hit in the throat by the first round, he went down choking on his own blood. Then the panic started, not a wave of panic, or even a scream to start it off. It was as if some one had turned a switch. Instantly every diner ran for the door, but it opened inwards, and with that many people trying desperatly to be the first one out. It made his task that much easier. He took aim at the mass of writhing bodies by the door and then took note. 16 rounds left.
He fired, the gun jumping in his hand, and for a moment it felt alive, the tongue of fire it spat with every shot was like a declaration of his suffering and torment, the ones he killed outright were the lucky ones, the ones he just wounded were trampled to death by the expensive loafers of their dining breathrin.
When the Glock had finished its deathly song, he dropped it to the floor, they had managed to get the door open by his 8th shot, so he turned his aim to the ones at the back, the easiest to kill. 21 dead, not a bad count for only 17 rounds, though he supposed some rounds had passed through multiple people. Perhaps some of them were just playing dead? It wouldnt matter soon.
He took the second item from his pocket. An orange juice carton. He had spent hours trawling the free internet at the library to find the perfect home made bomb. He had settled on petrol and soap flakes, mixed into a thin paste. He had read it would form several dozen sticky clumps that would burn for a long time, at an insanely hot temperature. Almost impossible to remove from skin before it burned its way through. He set it on the floor, took his cigarette lighter from his pocket and lit the fuse.
He smiled
User Reviews
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2008-11-18 18:49:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2008-11-18 12:19:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
On par with sico in the 'braisn' department as well as the'looks' department.
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2008-11-18 12:16:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"He fired, the gun jumping in his hand, and for a moment it felt alive"
This reminded me of one of my favorite Nas songs of all time, "I Gave You Power"; lyrics below.
Damn! Look how mother fuckers use a nigga
Just use me for whatever the fuck they want
I don't get to say shit
Just grab me, just do what the fuck they want
Sell me, throw me away
Niggaz just don't give a fuck about a nigga like me right?
Like I'm a f... I'm a gun, shit
It's like I'm a motherfucking gun
I can't believe this shit....
Word up.. (word up..)
I seen some cold nights and bloody days
They grab me and bullets spray
They use me wrong so I sing this song 'til this day
My body is cold steel for real
I was made to kill, that's why they keep me concealed
Under car seats they sneak me in clubs
Been in the hands of mad thugs
They feed me when they load me with mad slugs
Seventeen precisely, one in my head
They call me Desert Eagle, semi-auto with lead
I'm seven inches, four pounds, been through so many towns
Ohio to Little Rock to Canarsie, living harshly
Beat up and battered, they pull me out
I watch as niggaz scattered, makin me kill
But what I feel it never mattered
When I'm empty I'm quiet, finding myself fiending to be fired
A broken safety, niggaz place me in shelves
Under beds, so I beg for my next owner to be a thoroughbred
Keep me full up with hollow heads
How you like me now? I go blaow
It's that shit that moves crowds making every ghetto foul
I might have took your first child
Scarred your life, crippled your style
I gave you power
I made you buck wild
Always I'm in some shit, my abdomen is the clip
The barrel is my dick, uncircumcised
Pull my skin back and cock me, I bust off when they unlock me
Results of what happens to niggaz shock me
I see niggaz bleeding running from me in fear, stunningly tears
Fall down the eyes of these so-called tough guys, for years
I've been used in robberies, giving niggaz heart to follow me
Placing peoples in graves, funerals made cause I was sprayed
I was laid in a shelf, with a grenade
Met a wrecked-up tech with numbers on his chest that say
Five-two-oh-nine-three-eight-five and zero
Had a serial defaced, hoping one day, police would place
Where he came from, a name or some sort of person to claim him
Tired of murdering, made him wanna be a plain gun
But yo I had some other plans, like the next time the beef is on
I make myself jam right in my owner's hand
How you like me now? I go blaow
It's that shit that moves crowds making every ghetto foul
I might have took your first child
Scarred your life, crippled your style
I gave you power
I made you buck wild
Yo, weeks went by and I'm surprised
Still stuck in the shelf with all the things that an outlaw hides
Besides me it's bullets, two vests and then a nine
There's a grenade in a box, and that tech that kept crying
Cause he ain't been cleaned in a year, he's rusty as clear
He's bout to fall to pieces, cause of his murder career
Yo, I can hear somebody coming in, open the shelf
His eyes bubbling, he said, "It was on"
I felt his palm troubled him shaking
Somebody stomped him out, his dome was aching
He placed me on his waist, the moment I've been waiting
My creation was for blacks to kill blacks
It's gats like me that accidentally, go off, making niggaz memories
But this time, it's done intentionally
He walked me outside, saw this cat
Cocked me back, said, "Remember me?"
He pulled the trigger but I held on, it felt wrong
Knowing niggaz is waiting in hell for him
He squeezed harder, I didn't budge, sick of the blood
Sick of the thugs, sick of wrath of the, next man's grudge
What the other kid did was pull out, no doubt
A newer me in better shape, before he lit out, he lead the chase
My owner fell to the floor, his wig split so fast
I didn't know he was hit, it's over with
Heard mad niggaz screaming, niggaz running, cops is coming
Now I'm happy, until I felt somebody else grab me
Damn!
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2008-11-18 11:20:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Desz (user info) at 2008-11-17 22:51:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
So far getting a warm welcome,
are you an alter who knows exactly what is wanted here?
---
More that he isn't an alter.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-11-18 09:39:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
n00b
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-11-18 08:30:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2008-11-18 07:57:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Not terrible.
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2008-11-18 07:33:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I enjoyed this, I would love to have flipped out and shot up my school. I mean i've never worked as a waiter or anything like that, got office job, would be a waste to blast the 3 other people here! - But I would love to shoot a resteraunt full of people.
i would like to use a shotgun though, like the little 410. behind my sofa.
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2008-11-17 23:42:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Worth reading. Needs more research, such as the Glock 17 has neither a 'crome' nor a chrome slide. If you're going to drop details, make them accurate. Spell check and proofread.
Submitted by Desz (user info) at 2008-11-17 22:51:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
So far getting a warm welcome,
are you an alter who knows exactly what is wanted here?
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2008-11-17 22:42:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Meh title.
Cliched material.
Decently written
Submitted by Trishtopher (user info) at 2008-11-17 21:19:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 'cause I've had this thought in some of the restaurants I've worked in. Yea service industry! Wait, no...
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2008-11-17 20:44:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
ahem
ATTN FBI!!! READ HERE WITH YOUR SUPER SECRET INNERNET SCAN SOFTWARES
although it was moderately decently written, so only -1 for cliche topic