Time. Not enough. Never enough. Always running out. But not anymore. Not anymore.
Time has a habit of slipping through my fingers, when I need it most …not anymore.
Clasped tightly in my hands, like a child’s toy, is my gift, my promise, my redemption, for all the stupid whiny self-pitying half-alive creatures, mewling over their pathetic problems, their entitlement, the over-flowing oppressive inhumanity, I can hardly breathe, it makes me so sick.
In my hands I hold a bomb.
A bombing is a chance to show people the true extent of what they deserve. In my hand lays the parcel of beauty, and promise. Waiting to be opened at just the right time. Waiting for the right moment.
I am so powerful.
I’m ready for this…or am I?
Yes…yes. The time for self doubt has passed…
Get a grip .Get a grip. Get a grip.
My parents. They’re the only ones to blame for me being the way I am, for me being like this, for me. It’s not my fault. IT’S NOT MY FAULT.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I swallow hard, anticipation and nerves lay bundled up inside me, trying not to break through to the surface. But, I’m not scared. Up until this moment, I’ve been living, trying to make a difference to other people. I realised now what is begging to be done, what needs to be done…I must save them from themselves, if it’s the last thing I do.
Tonight is the night. Tonight is the night in which society is saved. Tonight is the night I plant a bomb in a shopping mall and I shall save society from themselves.
I am the chosen one. Me.
I didn’t make the bomb, no, I am part of a group with a range of skills. But, we all have one thing in common… that we know that society needs to be punished and we know that we‘re the only ones to do it.
I can’t stand the way people are so ungrateful, how they feel they deserve something from life, like they’re entitled to everything! I can’t stand their way of thinking, it’s so… broken. So bloody broken. But it can be fixed. And I’m going to fix it.
‘They’ say that you learn most of what you know from your parents. My dad always used to give mum ‘what she deserved’ in the form of punches, and kicks, and bruises. And, I guess the message must have gotten through because whatever she was doing wrong… stopped. He was powerful, and people seemed to listen to his words, to his answers for the God forsaken world. I am his son after all, maybe I take after him. Maybe.
I’m carrying the bomb in my hands, cradling it like a baby, killing time before it kills me. It will come soon, but not soon enough. It feels as though all my life, I’ve never been good enough, never fitted in, never mattered… I’ve been worthless my whole life. But now is my chance to show the world that I, Jasper Collins, meant something, that my voice deserves to be heard too, and heard it will be. IT WILL BE! There is no doubt that over their screams and pain and utter terror, my voice will echo the loudest of all. Now they’ll hear me.
Now I’m home, alone. Flicking through mindless television, still holding the bomb close to me, my thoughts are tumbling nearly as quickly as I am changing the channels.
Am I ready for this?
What if nobody learns from this?
What if it’s in vain?
What if my death is in vain…?
No, I can’t think like that, I can’t allow myself to fall into a trap that I can’t get myself out of. I need to stay focused on the task ahead, ridding myself of any lingering regrets that haunt my life. I can’t be consumed by the ghosts of my past. I want to go knowing that all I was, was myself. That sounds ridiculous, I know, but what I mean is that I won’t die pretending to be something I’m not. All or nothing. That’s what they say.
Disturbing my deep thoughts, my mum stumbles through the door, drunk and stinking of wine. As usual. Always drunk, always hopeless. Always. “Bloody door tri-trip-ped me up,” she slurs this, “What are you doing back so soon, Jasper?” Her tone full of curiosity, but dripping with spite too. This was the time I usually met up with the others, where we discussed our dream… In that time she would be getting herself more drunk. Her eyes are searching me for an answer. She’s noticed the bomb, wrapped in a plastic bag. She’s noticed, and she’s peering over, her eyes trying to delve into whatever secrets lay in my hands. Too bad, I’m not going to show her what it is.
Getting up to leave, I take one deep, sorrowful breath, scanning the contents of the living room, knowing it’s the last time I will see it. Lingering beside my mum, I wrap my arms around her, not wanting to let go. “I’m sorry, mum. I love you, but I have to go,” Her eyes meet mine, I swallow hard, and biting my lip, I refuse to let any tears pass before her; to her it will be just another day.
Please God, don’t let me cry in front of my mum.
“Jasper?” she’s obviously noticing something isn’t right, but I can’t’ explain, the truth hurts people. The truth doesn’t set you free, it enslaves you. What I’m doing is right, I feel it. I know it. But if I tell mum, I know she’ll try to stop me. She just won’t see the bigger picture.
Pushing past her, I must leave while I still can. Before it’s too late.It’s all about timing.
“Where are you going, Jasp?” She stumbles down to the sofa, her voice getting louder and more threatening as she does so. Planting a kiss on her cheek, I whisper “I love you, mum. I really do.”
I have to get out of this house.
I have to achieve my destiny.
“Jasper?” she calls again. This time I promise myself no matter how hard it is, I won’t turn around. I’m walking away from her, and suddenly, I’m out of the house. I’m sprinting; weightless I’m soaring towards my destiny. I’m breaking free. Not even gravity can hold me back now.
Checking my watch, I must be conscious of the time. Always conscious. Walking into the shopping mall, I clutch the bag closer to me.
I am so powerful.
I’m ready for this.
I hear my phone ring, a final call from the others. Now it’s time. Time for society to repent, time for them to be saved. Answering the phone, I hear Cobra, the leader’s voice, “You know what you’ve got to do right, Jasper?”
“Yes.” I reply obediently.
“At exactly 8’olclock you will pull the trigger for the bomb, and the timer starts. It will give you exactly one minute before it explodes. Soon it will all be over, Jasper. Beautiful destruction will be created, oh such beautiful justice. You are the chosen one, Jasper. We believe in you.” Gathering myself to respond to what he’d said, I realise he’s hung up on me.
Now I am alone.
It is now exactly 8 o ‘clock, and I am sitting in a café. I know what I must do. In my hands is the bomb, suffocating in its plastic coffin. My hands shake so violently I can hardly hold it in them. With shaking hands, I carefully put the precious package on the table, avoiding other people’s gazes, and trying not to make it obvious. I decide to pull out the trigger out slowly, allowing myself to really enjoy this. I want to savour this. I have worked for this and now I’m going to savour this last minute like I deserve to.
50 seconds left…
I am no longer in the shopping mall, I am reliving my past. One memory at a time. Swimming in my subconscious. Drowning in the blur of my past.
My 6th birthday... what a strange thought to come into my mind…all I can remember is the smell of wine and vomit lingering throughout the house, to where mum lay…
30 seconds left….
Tears splinter across my cheeks pitifully. Now I’m glad I’m alone.
I know I’m doing the right thing, but I’m terrified of dying. And more so what comes after…I don’t want to die alone.
10 seconds left…
All I can think about is my mum now.
What if it hurts?
What if nothing happens?
What if …?
My thoughts are so loud now, but there’s no time to think.
Soon they’ll be silenced.
5 seconds left…
Time is up.
© Copyright 2016 JemJars. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Thrillers
Short Story / Thrillers
Poem / Poetry
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