1 Why Am I Here?

I wonder if I was always here? Sitting on this bench, staring frantically in search for some outback Nazi law enforcement, searching for some bewildered vagrant. I remember when I was young, I used to just sit at home, wonder if this was all here before me, if there was even a world before I was here. Maybe there was nothing, maybe there was so much more. The stories my grandpa used to tell made me feel I'd missed everything. A world drenched is some acid washed insanity, on a psychedelic wave of peace and love. The world was some schizophrenic sociopath, that found it's cool long before I was here, now life sits in its monotonous way in respect to its adventurous path, unable to live up to its former self. And yet flashes pass over me in a wave of sickness and dysphoria.

It's weird how you focus on little things, even in big moments, insane moments, that somehow break down to the smells in the room. The curve on a lip, as your cold arm of death wields an extension of its will. You don't see the moment for the entirety of its meaning, just the parts that made its horror bearable. The ease I felt reliving this, became a shiver crawling up my spine, chilling the bone as my body shuddered in disgust. Where am I? Bus stop, 3:43am. City transit may be a miraculous product of city living, but it's not for the benefit of creatures of the night. I find myself struggling to fight lumping myself into that group, more and more as the years go by.

I wonder if that's how strangers look at us, do they see what's sitting below the surface? Waiting to peek behind our covers, waiting to leap over the barricade and unleash it's will. It's sad that I find this more apt to myself than anything else, there was something I wouldn't have acknowledged before the moments that I was reeling from. Screams, the room's shrouded in a fuzzy haze of shrill shrieks & expressions of terror, and disdain. I watch myself in this moment, a sterile green glow filled the store, that cool buzz from the refrigerating units of the back wall created a nauseating hum in the back of your skull. The vibrating drilling holes into your brain, you could feel, smell the anxiety in the air like the fresh scent of sick and excrement sitting on your clothes. An aura eating away at the very being you were as you stepped into the shrouding scent.

I'd said the words a thousand times in my head, they were echoing around there, bouncing against each variation as my mind raced in anxiety. I watched as the cashier stared with expecting eyes, I only realized where I was as I met her eyes. Her lip was quivering, petrified from the dread. "Give me everything, everything on you, everything in the cash register, everything that's here." I could see as this old woman took in the words I said, her lips moving with the last words I'd uttered. The anger crawled on her face for a moment and evaporated as she saw the weapon pointed at her skull. I didn't dare shake, I didn't dare flinch, this was a test of wills and if Marcus saw me slip, I'd be leaving this in a bag, to be found three weeks from now: In a wasteland of coca cola cans, behemoths of McDonald's garbage; the recycled American Dream. I look back at the door for reassurance, "Give it over or I swear to god, we'll come back there for your son, and your husband." Marcus was never one to speak in riddles, never one to play with words. This woman stood down his cold dead eyes, and his weapon drawn, sitting at his waist.

Unpleasant memories had disjointed my grasp of reality, I only heard the sirens in a dream-like haze, the bench vibrated with the emanating anxiety. The ground was static, the small haven I'd found myself waiting in became a glowing box of dread, protecting from the neon drenched road the cop car passed on. A horribly contorted beast mounted with a shrieking roar enough to stifle a high powered mutant, with a fender bent to the crooked grin that would provoke a tadpole to sprout legs, and a crooked faced man tending the light in the depths of the beast, as much along for the ride as whatever force drove it.

I felt the case handcuffed to my wrist grow heavier and heavier. The cracks blasted a light of criminal mischief. The beast crawled up the path and began to slow in front of the bus stop. I felt the haven swiftly drain of its sense of safety, all that remained was the subtle drone of anxiety, so electric it was as though the air was carrying it's reach. The lights shone, and I became extremely aware of my skin. Being I began to try and recede into it. My eyes closed I could still feel the dread course through my veins, like a quick shot of adrenaline blasting through my bloodstream, finding me even the slightest breath recession, the mildest shudder. It was raining, I hadn't cared enough to know, I hadn't cared enough to focus. My head was buried in my sweater as I tried to hide from the brood-ish stare of the self-assured beat cop who undoubtedly was now staring me down, from his high-powered mutant killing behemoth.

The memories flooded with a vengeance; the beasts roar had sent a bad jolt into the recess' of my mind. I felt myself fight the thoughts, but as the fog crawled from the cells of the neon wasteland beyond. "Please, please we need thi— "She began, where were my feet? Where was I now? My hand bound to this death loaded tool. I think I'd hadn't have noticed my hand at all, I think I'd be caught in the moment if I didn't feel the grip in my hand. It felt white hot, it felt burning. Like I wasn't meant to be holding it at all, and maybe, maybe I wasn't, but it continued to stare down the old woman in spite of that. "Breath woman, or we'll make sure you can't." I looked in a shocked bewilderment, Marcus was the type of person who'd take a swig from a can of kerosene and then fight a terrier and look cool while doing it. My eyes clung in an almost unwitting dismay until I began to see past, I think my eyes stayed a moment too long, there'd been something so entrancing of the neon "Open" sign that hung slanted against the door. The sterile fluorescent glow felt divided by the glow of the neon, protecting us from the absence beyond. A slow background music played as my stare sat on the sign, it became almost disorienting, I could feel something I wouldn't want to see was about to happen.

The rattle had been heard before, but the buzz entirely drowned out any of the other noises. Though I couldn't imagine I'd have had long to ignore it. The beast is sitting in front of me now, across the road. The sky cracked in disgust, and the car's siren blared violently. The darkness and distance contorted the faces in the car. The neon reflected off of every puddle, warped with each rain pellet. I'd have sworn the car was filled with faceless men in black if I hadn't realized that what I was seeing wasn't real anymore. The night was playing tricks on my eyes. Was I even here? Or was I in the store? Everything moves too fast, I barely notice the sound of someone walk, a gunshot blasts and I was certain where I was now. "Oh god no!" I feel myself whisper. Turning in terror, I feel my arm fling back in front of the woman. I watch as she bounces against the wall, I didn't feel my hand pull the trigger, I didn't feel it fire, I just looked to see how the neon shone that blood soaked tint that was ineffably different. My eyes darted by the doorway to see their kid slumped over a cooler by the door, the shots rung in our ears as we stood in terror, the room hadn't a sound. The calm that would undoubtedly follow before I felt the bile begin to crawl up my esophagus.

I stared down the car now, reality came reeling in as the unpleasant memory faded to the back of my mind. All that remained was the anxiety, and the briefcase filled with the money from the store, and whatever else Marcus had in there. For all I knew, I might be holding 3 pounds of armed Nitroglycerin prepared in a lab long since busted in the lower downtown area. Thick beads of sweat dripped as I stared the cop down across the street. The car interior light flashed his crooked face to a gentle weathered smile, some veteran on the beat, opening the door. He closes the door behind him as he smiles looking back at a slow and unexciting day of work in his slice of Pleasantville. No need to ruin his Suburban Safe Haven tonight, so long as he would leave me to sit.

I didn't have to look as the sterile calm delved into absolute insanity. Marcus got clipped and slammed against the door, the glass shattered as it landed by his ass as he hit the ground. I felt the shot hit my arm and spin me like a top. I look up in terror and I felt myself choke on the sick in my throat, I fired and felt as what seemed like hot sewage blast through my mouth and nostrils. I drop to my knees, the gun in my hand finally dismounts and clatters on the floor. I feel the sick work it's way out of my body and in one last moment of ultimate defeat, feel absolute release. I slump onto my back and close my eyes under the sterile light. I raise my hand in an embittered attempt to block the light hanging ominously above, staring me down, digging at this migraine that had worked its way over me as the anxiety built. Landing on my face as soon as I lifted it, I laid back and simply dozed off.

I don't remember much of what would happen next, I remember the sounds I heard. It was like a defeated shuffle, the sound of something dragging and cussing as new problems would arise. I remember being in and out of consciousness and wondering if I was awake at all. And, awake. Where was I? That question sat in the forefront of my mind for a moment before the hazy recollection of what had transpired the moments before. Let's retrace our steps, momma screams "Stop." Kid drops, and then mom follows. Shotgun, and now I'm here. Where was here? Where was Marcus? "Marcus?!" I scream haphazardly. "Yo--, ye—uhh…." I hear behind me. I look up to see him gushing blood from his side. I roll onto my side and press my knees against the carpet I laid on, to crawl to his feet. "Marcus?! Wake up!!" He wheezed a breath with a barely open eye and left me with little hope of communication. At least verbal. Nothing is a better confirmation of consciousness than a cold open palm crossing your face, "Wake the hell up!!" A meaty slap would follow but he remained dazed. "The next one's going to hurt like hell." I said putting my arm behind his neck. "Hey, hey man…" He started, I looked at his face and he had a big stupid grin behind a pair of aviators he'd grabbed from the rack beside him. I laugh in an almost bittersweet defeat, "I'm going to, I'm going to--- uh…." He tried to find the words, I think he was choosing them carefully, he wanted to know it'd be funny if it was the last ones he'd say. "I'm going to freak out some coroners with how good I looked." I shouldn't have laughed.

I think he was dead within a few more laboured breaths out from that, I wasn't sure, I didn't have time to be. I lunged for the cash register and bashed it until I could get it open. Quickly I loaded up the briefcase handcuffed to my wrist and made my way for the door. I walked past my friend's corpse today, and I ran for another block before I had time to let that sink in. Maybe it hadn't registered before, but staring down the cop, standing by his car now, I realized Marcus was most certainly a friend. And now he's lying in some general store in a pool of his own blood, wearing a pair of cheap crooked aviators. I think I'd have time for remorse or grief if it weren't for the reason behind all of this, clearing things with Nico. That's why I was here at this bus stop, who I would be waiting for.

I wouldn't dare meet eyes with the cop, but I knew where he stood before I could do so much as bat an eye at his presence. And he was walking towards me. My heart was in my throat, pulsating at a speed similar to a wild boar coated in honey, sledding down a rugged hill. I could see him reaching for his pocket, and felt the lack of weight on my waist, where the pistol had sat. He met eyes with me from behind his glasses and smiled with his words, a healthy serving of self-importance and condescension, "You can't smoke here." I look up, blissfully unaware of the rogue cigarette that hung to the corner of my mouth. "What?" He stared back unflinchingly, "You, cannot, smoke, here. Understand?" I stare back and fight the urge to grope at my right side. As little attention as he paid to the wound the better. "Yes officer." I said, "Goodnight son." He responded, turning around quickly. "Thank you, sir." I continued. He turned with a look of discontent, "Yes son, goodnight." He continued on down past his car and into a house of true suburban chicken coop standards. "God awful jagoff!" I muttered in contempt. "Goddamned pig." I continued.

I wondered if tonight was just a night that'd run on a little too long, maybe it was just a terrible dream I hadn't escaped yet. Biding my time and suffering for it. Where was I now? I wasn't certain, I wasn't certain if I had a plan at all. I wasn't certain if Nico was coming, or if there was anything more I could do with this money that would amount to fill the void left by Marcus. However, much contempt I'd have had for him being in with Nico, I'd never lost respect for him. I loved him and finding that was a hard thing to come by between a man and his captor. I could only hope the next one Nico had sent with me will have half the personality Marcus had, and two times more the absorption of lead. Maybe it was luck I'd survived and he hadn't, maybe a sick joke, but though I had no hope for the future I had seven hundred dollars, and in the end that was more than I would undoubtedly die for. No room for mercy, until the devil gets his dues.