A Robbery

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

This story contains extremely bad language. I advise you to steer clear of it if you are easily offended. This is a pitch black comedy about the robbery of a convenience store. It is being narrated by the thief.

I rarely find myself in good situations. Fate's had it out for me since my birth. I say fate instead of God because, well, if God exists, that would make him an asshole. And I, for one, refuse to believe that. So I blame fate. Don't roll your fucking eyes at me. I'm not one of "those" people that blame their shitty lives on everyone else. I know I've made my share of fucking mistakes. I'm not ashamed to admit that. Every single person on this planet has options. I just choose the wrong ones from time to time. Which is why I'm standing in this convenience store wearing a fucking hockey mask and pointing my pistol in the face of this beautiful young lady. Hold your fucking horses. I'm not going to shoot her. I'm not a fucking murderer or any bullshit like that. I just need the money. But she doesn't have to know that.

"Put the money in the fucking bag, bitch!", I shouted at her. I know, calling her a bitch was in poor taste. But I had to sound convincing, right? You wouldn't just waltz up to the fucking register and say "please put the money in the fucking bag" would you? I didn't think so. She'd probably laugh at your cock-sucking ass and ask where your balls were. It's imperative that you sound as dangerous as possible. I know I sounded fucking dangerous. I can tell by the way her fucking hands are shaking. Are those tears coming out of her eyes? Shit. I'm pretty good at this.

"Shut the fuck up with that shit! Stop fucking crying! If you hurry and put the damn money in the bag, I'll fucking leave! Ten seconds before your brain wears my fucking bullet to prom, bitch! One.. Two.." Stop fucking worrying about it! I already told you that I wasn't going to shoot her. She's got nothing at all to worry about. She'll hand me the bag and I'll be out the fucking door before those queer ass cops even get a fucking whiff of my existence. "Three.. Four.." This bitch is still shaking. Maybe I should move out to Hollywood and become a fucking actor or something. I'm pretty sure I deserve an Oscar for this shit. Oh, Christ! She's finally done! " Hand me that bag, mother fucker! Now get on the fucking floor and stay there until I'm fucking gone!" 

Alright. Bag is in hand. Lady is on the floor. Time to get the fuck out of here!

And then there it was, right as I was heading for the fucking exit. The blast of a shotgun sounded like thunder all around the room. Blood and chunks of my stomach exploded from my body before I even hit the fucking ground. That beautiful young lady that you were rooting for? She just fucking shot me. She must have had a gun under the counter. That fucking bitch. Fuck her. Fuck you. But most of all, fuck fate.


Submitted: March 27, 2014

© Copyright 2021 PoeticDisease91. All rights reserved.

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