Richard walked down the street, it was empty. He decided to go just after the morning rush, and so far, it seemed like a good choice. He wore a hooded jacket, a few sizes larger. It made him look like he had a beer belly – but he hadn’t been drinking since he lost his job. Concealed within that jacket was a gun, you can’t rob a store empty-handed.
He didn’t want to do it, he would rather get a new job, but… The other man – the one behind the glass, had convinced him to. Richard kept thinking of the worst-case scenario, and he wanted to give it up, make a U-turn and go back home.
It will be worth it in the end.
The man had somehow gotten into his head. Great. Richard wasn’t bad at heart, only impressionable. There was one time he loosened the screws on the teacher’s chair. She was a fat lady and when she sat, it was hilarious. He chuckled at the memory.
He had thrown the screwdriver out the window, but it somehow found its way back into his bag.
There was also that time in high school… A Catholic high school. His “friends” had him put weed in the thurible. He got caught. He got expelled. They went free.
But that was enough reminiscing, he had reached the store. He walked through the door of the 8/12, there was no one inside, except the store clerk, who was asleep. He felt uneasy as he walked up to the counter.
“Hello?”
No response.
He tapped the clerk on the arm.
Still no response.
He knocked on the counter till the clerk woke up.
There was an awkward silence as the clerk cleaned up his drool.
“(Yawn) Sorry about that, how can I help you?”
“Do you still have Oreos in stock?” Richard asked.
The clerk looked around, and then shouted, “Hey, Ben could you bring some Oreos?”
Ben replied, from the back room, “Okay, be there in a sec.”
He stepped out, handed the Oreos over, and then returned.
Richard looked at the clerk’s nametag. It read “David.”
“That’ll be $4, please,” said David.
Richard pulled the gun out of his jacket and pointed it at the clerk.
“I’d rather h…have the money. The money in the register,” he stuttered.
Oh God, what am I doing…?
Fantastic, Richard.
The clerk began to put the money in a plastic bag, but, at a hobbled snail’s pace. Richard was getting anxious. There seemed to be no air in the store.
“Hurry it up! I ain’t got time!” he exclaimed and cocked his gun. He took rushed, shallow breaths.
The clerk handed him the bag. Richard took it from him and retreated, with the gun still pointed at the cashier.
He backed out of the door, turned to move and bumped into someone. His eyes rolled upwards to find a police badge.
“Hey, what… uh, what you got there?” the policeman asked, eyes on the gun.
Without a second thought, Richard took to his heels, shoving the officer aside.
He took a left down an alley, then a right and over a fence, yet, the officer was still hot on his tail. He fired at the officer and missed. The gunshot made Richard’s ears ring, he kept running. He knew this city like the back of his hand, but the fear of getting caught seemed to wipe his memory.
He could hear the officer’s footsteps behind him and from time to time, a cry of “STOP!” would ring out. He made another turn, but there was nowhere else to go. He had reached a dead end.
He held the gun up, waiting for the officer and when he showed up, Richard shot him in the thigh.
The officer groaned but kept a hand on his firearm. Richard made a break for it and tried to leap over the downed officer, but an outstretched arm brought him down. He hurried to his feet, then – BANG!
Richard kept running. He felt the damp warmth spreading from his shoulder. He applied pressure to the wound and did his best to ignore the pain, the police would definitely find him, but now, he had to keep moving. As soon as he shut the door to his home, he collapsed.
Some hours later, he took a look at himself. He had a bullet wound in his shoulder and two bruised knees but other than that, he was fine. He walked into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. He took out a self-made first aid kit. This wasn’t the first time he got shot.
He took off his clothes and sat on the toilet seat. He managed to clean and bandage his wounds without screaming, then he picked up the bag of money.
He counted out fifty dollars and twenty cents. He paused. He picked up the bag and went to his mirror. He looked into it and a man stared back. The man looked like him but, at the same time, didn’t. Richard took a deep breath and held the bag up to the mirror.
“Look at this,” he said, calmly.
“Look at this!
“Is this worth getting shot for?! Fifty dollars?!”
He pointed at his bandaged shoulder.
“You made me go out and do something I didn’t want to! Are you fucking happy?!
The same way you made me kill James and Stephanie,” he trailed off.
I did not make you do anything, I only suggested.
I did not kill James or Stephanie.
And I did not rob a store or shoot an officer who was just doing his job. You did all these things.
I am but a reflection of your darkest desires.
The words left Richard stunned.
He looked into the eyes of the man. He bared his teeth as anger rose to the surface. He picked up a remote and hurled it at the mirror. It phased through the mirror and smacked the man on the nose. Simultaneously, a remote came flying from the mirror, also hitting Richard on the nose. A sly smile spread across Richard’s face nonetheless. The man cocked his head to the side, a look of disgust on his face as Richard walked away.
Richard sat on his bed. His emotions were running wild. A cocktail of anger, sadness and frustration. He knew the police would find him, no matter how much, or how far he ran- he had looked the officer in the eyes. He also knew he’d go away for a long, long time.
He cupped his face in his palms and sobbed, then picked up the gun and walked to the mirror. He had to take the bastard with him.
Richard pointed the gun at his head, and the man mirrored his action.
Don’t do it, Richard.
Richard pressed the muzzle to his temple, tears in his eyes.
“You’re not convincing me this time.”
The man looked down at Richard’s lifeless body, it twitched as the life faded from it. The blood flowed from the wound in his head into a crimson pool. The man smacked himself on
the head, once then once again. A bullet fell out and the hole closed up behind it. He stretched his limbs and took another disapproving look at Richard.
Then he stepped out of the mirror, through the walls and into the streets.