Throughout the buyer’s end of Gooby’s, where the black tiles were stained with enough ketchup to drown a small child, the regular kind of joes walked in and out. Chantelle twiddled her thumbs as she looked down at her iphone that vibrated across the table, shaking her fries lightly. “Just. f*ck. Off,” she whispered to it.
Michael was in the same clothes he was wearing the night before. He was sat perched in a window view of the cars outside, the parking lot filled to the brim. He ran a hand through his sticky hair and sipped his coffee. Everything hurt, even thinking, and he certainly was doing a lot of that. Across from him, sprawled on the table was Michael, young, black, and half-dead from whatever he’d slipped into his coffee. sh*t man, this ain’t no natural sh*t, why ain’t none of these fools helping me!?
"Enjoy your deluxe Gooby Sperminator," Ronnie said as he waved off the last drive-thru bitch. She was a wide black woman that spilled into the handbrake area of her sh*tty Ford. He could imagine her now, chowing down hard, enjoying every bite, every drip. It made him smile bright to the next customer as he thought of it. As he picked up to Gooby shakes, he clocked RJ’s door shut, and as Cindy was nowhere in sight, he assumed she was chowing down on something similar to the fatty in the Ford.
RJ slipped his ring into the top drawer of the manager’s office drawer, watching over the store from the CCTV hubs. All of them were relaying delays of the store with grainy, blue trails. “I don’t see why you do that every time!” whined Cindy, feeling a little hurt but showing it in the way she was accustomed to.
“Don’t question, just do your thing, I’ve gotta check the deliveries in fifteen.” He rubbed his shaved head and leaned back in his fifteen dollar chair that was giving him sciatica. Cindy unbuckled his belt quickly, attempting a look of lowered eyelids, a
ploy of seduction. “Skip the sexy sh*t, just do it,” he said impatiently with a snap of his fingers.
“Fine,” she replied with a huff before she pulled it out. This is f*cking huge.
Ronnie went back to the drive-thru window just as Michael was escorted off the premises by Simmy, the only one of the joint
to never complain. Ronnie didn’t like that. Simmy didn’t sit right with him. As he watched the other black kid stumble away, he felt disgust at Simmy, and for what reason he didn’t know. Up here in Gooby’s it was school-yard tactics, even though Ronnie hadn’t been in school for seven years. He still found himself going back to them, and not for the teachers. As he slowly made his way back to the drive-thru window, he looked down at the cup-holders. “Gooby’s, how may I take your order,” he began with a boring drone.
“Give Marxis my regards,” said the man in the car, but as Ronnie looked up, his world went to black as the pellets of the sawn-off Remington shotgun tore his face off and left nothing but mushy pulp. The force threw him back and his hands landed in the fryer before he slipped to the floor, both life and all seven pints of blood leaving him at the same time.
“What was that?” said RJ as he looked at the screens, Cindy’s soft lips still all the way to the base. She gagged as he shot up and reached for the door. As he did, she clenched down.
Simmy heard the thunderous crack of the gun, and the screech of the black van that shot past the windows and through to the ocean of cars. As customers screamed and ran for the doors, he fought against the current and launched over the counter. Blood coated the floor, mixing with loose cup-holders. Jesus Christ. Ronnie’s face was gone, replaced by blood and bone: his plump body lifeless. Simmy put his hands on his head and looked to the window where Ronnie once stood. The back-door slammed open and RJ jumped out. “WHAT THE f*ck ARE YOU PLAYING AT YOU f*ckING BROKEN CON—“ he gasped as he reached the pools of blood.
He let out a yelp and sprinted off as Cindy walked past him and let out a shrill scream, one that scared Simmy more than anything in the world. As weakness spread over him, he gripped his head and took in deep breaths. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. What the f*ck!? WHAT THE f*ck!? WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED!?
I have no idea when I wrote this but I did it when I was very inebriated I believe as a bet. It's just a one-shot. There's no follow-up or anything and it feels too action-orientated. I just thought I'd throw it up.
Edited by Ziggy455, 11 August 2013 - 11:16 PM.