Samuel pushed the creature into the crowd…

There was this nagging reminder of what he had been through, the violence, the noise of it all. The screaming most of all, it came back into Samuel’s mind and his eyes went bloodshot with fear. This thing was coming for him, he felt it’s draw on him tangibly, in his guts, down his spine. It wanted him, and only him.

 

He wanted to turn his head, but he feared he’d lose his way through the crowd. The people were screaming even louder now, and Samuel couldn’t hear anything but shrill piercing sounds every where around him. He felt hands all over his back, everyone’s hands, anyone’s hands. It had gotten so unbearably warm and the pecoat made it hard to sneak through the massive meat sponge, he felt very much like he was trying to squeeze though a ringer.

 

The bank teller was closer now, the front windows were just a few feet away, but a wall of hundreds of people blocked his way. The gun dug into his back again, he was afraid it would go off and shoot him in the ass. He placed his hand on the grip, under the pecoat, and felt his palms grip the fine wooden handle. Slower, more controlled, he pushed his way through the crowd, he turned his head and saw that the face of that thing, whatever it was, had disappeared amongst the people of the bank.

 

Samuel collected his thoughts and sighed to himself. He was out of breath and people were flinging arms and wrists and hands at the teller windows, nothing made any sense and there was smoke everywhere. Samuel could feel the overwhelming stress of the whole place coming down on him. He removed a cigarette from the pecoat breast pocket and struck a match. The smell hung there, amongst all the tobacco and the rage.

 

He dragged real hard and grit his teeth. Pull yourself together, he told himself, this was no time for lolligagging! Suddenly, in the midst of this chaos, he began to wonder just what he was doing. Having gotten to the front of this line, having seen the stress visible in the tellar’s brow, Samuel wondered why had he come to the city? He had a small stash at home, hell, he was pulling out double that stash, tops. A few years, weathering the storm while he sat at home and brainstormed some get rich quick scheme.  He’d come here for that?

 

The tellers were tired, stressed, little women, hunched over with the agony of endurance. Samuel wanted to look into their eyes, wanted to see the hope he wanted them to have. Looking around, taking a drag of the cigarette and realizing how god awful warm this building had become, Samuel realized there was no hope. Only the sad realization that he had come to the end of a line leading to nowhere.

 

It seemed pointless to try to find an ash tray, so he just dropped the butt on the floor and began weaving his way out. No sign of that thing, must have been a hallucination. He’d have those often, waking in his own sweat from dreams of friends who ran too soon or too late, buddies that dove on grenades and always the shredded remains of the latest artillery shelling. Only a normal part of the war. He knew it going in, some men were built for it. Those men went home, they loved their families and held barbecues. The rest went home and grit their teeth while trying to forgot the godlessness of trench warfare. Samuel adapted well, but the war never left him.

 

That thing, whatever it was, only served as proof that the object of the war is terror, not to win.

 

He was getting closer to the door when something grabbed him. It felt much stronger than a human which is why Samuel instinctively felt it was some thing, not some one. It whirled him around and swiped him, bare handed, right across the jaw. Samuel went down and landed on his side, the gun shifted and scraped against his lower back. People were shouting, and the shouts seemed to actually be directed at something other than a teller.

 

“It’s a scrap you want eh?” It was the creature, was this in his mind? “Listen here scooter, I’m gonna make you wish your daddy pulled out. Let’s see you flap your gums after I knock your block off!” Samuel rushed this thing and took it to the floor, but it fought back. He knew it landed hard on it’s back but it seemed to feel nothing. He looked it in the eyes, cold milky pupils stared back at him. The snarl was ferocious and the thing kicked like a mule.

 

He slugged it firm across the face and pasted it one in the gut. It groaned and Samuel could hear the dull thud of flesh to flesh contact. He hit it pretty hard, it seemed to quit kicking. He laid one real good on its other cheek for good measure. His hands were covered in blood, thick milky blood. He was outside now, had actually stumbled out at some point. People stared at him while he backed out and dusted the pecoat off. He removed another cigarette and struck a match.  The creature was wriggling and trying to stand again.

 

Suddenly the bank doors flew open and hundreds of people poured out into the streets.

 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Samuel raised the peacemaker above his head. Whatever was at the source of this stampede, he intended on putting a stop to it, no doubt some other bastard wanted trouble.

OR…

The cigarette slipped from Samuel’s lips. What the hell was going on here?

 

Published on January 28, 2009 at 6:11 AM  Leave a Comment  

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