Fiction Fridays with Gus

By: Gus
As the car idled softly in place, whirring in the stall and sending a steady stream of exhaust into the already sparse ozone, he sat quietly, turning over the pistol in his hands.

Though it wasn’t quite a pistol. It was an airsoft pistol. A Glock 9mm. At least that’s what his neighbor, the autistic young man who lived across the street, told him when he had asked to borrow it.

He covered the orange tip with a piece of electrical tape.

He took three of his brother’s adderall before he left the house he lives in with his mother. He tells anyone who asks that his mother lives with him.

He needed money.

He sold a stereo to a guy he went to high school with for a few hundred bucks. He sold his mom’s wedding ring to one of those cash for gold sites and got an awful price for it. She wouldn’t miss it though, she hadn’t worn it since dad died.

There was one employee in the gas station, from what he could see. He had been sitting there for 37 minutes staring intently through the windows, watching each visitor stroll in, buy a coke or chips or whatever, stroll out and pull away.

But he hadn’t pulled away. He had stayed for...39 minutes, mulling over when it was he was going to make his move. If he was going to make his move. When.

Shit. Alright, the store was empty now. An elderly lady just paid for her gas and dozen eggs and was climbing into her Le Sabre.

Two deep breaths turn to ten as he pulls his wallet from his pocket and sets it in the ashtray. So many robberies, he had read, get thwarted when the perpetrator drops some sort of identifying evidence at the scene of the crime.

Off too came the wedding ring. Though it should have come off three months ago when she actually left. With the dog. She took the dog. She also took the vacuum cleaner he stood in a Black Friday line for for an hour to bring home to her because she said…

He took the gun, the airsoft gun, it can’t hurt anyone, in his right hand and took an empty Piggly Wiggly bag in his left. Why the fuck had he brought a Piggly Wiggly bag? What kind of fucking burglar was he? It’s fine, thousands of people shop at Piggly Wiggly, they won’t know. He’ll just flip it inside out. Yeah, that looks pretty good. That’s decent.

As he threw open the door and put one foot out he reached up with his bag hand to pull down his mask. His mask...

Shit.

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Oh, hello!
We're Sarah and Kaitlyn, roommates from Milwaukee who started this blog to promote creativity and life.
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