I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love

Cyrus had gotten to his feet on that day at the playground. Everything turned red, his blood rushing in his ears, he had to show them. Show them that he was not afraid, not little, not weak, and not a clean fighter.

He leapt at the first boy, bringing his palm up against the boys jaw, hearing the teeth click and crack from impact. His jaw was dislocated, he whimpered as he crumpled to the sand.
The other boys were in shock, but Cyrus was far from done. He punched another boy in the stomach over and over, until he vomitted all over his shirt and shoes. Cyrus then started to repeatedly ram his knee into the boys face, wanting to send that twisted cartilage into his brain.

The last remaining boy was running now, trying to escape, to get to a teacher, someone! Cyrus picked up a fair sized rock, and hurled it with all his rage fueled strength at the boys head, striking him hard behind the left ear. The boy cried out in pain and fear, as he toppled over, stunned and bleeding. Cyrus leapt on him and began to punch him square in the face, paying no heed to the teeth fragments cutting open his hands, or the blood that smeared both of them.
A teacher came up and tried to pull Cyrus away from the bully, but in a final desperate outburst, he reached out behind him and gouged out the teachers eye with a hooked finger.

Ophelia was sleeping now, Cyrus's jacket draped over her for warmth. Out of all the cars to boost, this one just had to have a heater that didn't work. He looked over at her, another cigarette pinched between his lips. She was beautiful, a once sweet girl that had corrupted and changed because of him. He wanted to feel bad, but couldn't.

"I'm trying, " he whispered to her, "I'm trying to let you know just how much you mean to me. And after all the things we put each other through, I still love you."

He cursed at himself for that moment of weakness, he hated being emotional, for that bred weakness. She was the emotional one out of the two of them. She always felt remorse, shame, and pity after they killed someone.

"I would drive on to the end with you. Yeah, we'll knock over a liquor store or two, but it's all about survival honey, keeps our gas tanks full. We need to get out of here, get as far as possible y'know?" he said softly more to himself.

The law was onto them, they were in newspapers, magazines, the evening news. The demolition lovers were just as famous as they were infamous. As much as the publicity and celebrity status it painted them in, "BLOOD DRENCHED ROMEO&JULIET" as the headlines said, he hated having a household face and name.

"And I feel that there is nothing left to do, but prove myself to you. And we'll keep it running, never stopping." he said, touching her cheek with a finger.

She stirred slightly, but remained sleeping. Cyrus wasn't sure why she stuck with him. He knew he was crazy, and that he was unstable. He was surprised that she didn't leave him after the Cracker Barrel incident. It made the top news, fourteen dead, ten wounded. All that they had wanted was some food, and the manager denied them. What would you have done? They insulted you, they were laughing at you! They needed to be taught a lesson, EVERY..SINGLE..ONE..OF THEM.

Ophelia opened her eyes sleepily, "Where are we?"

Before Cyrus could respond, one of the tires blew. They careened to the left, then the right, then left again. They came to rest on the side of the road, amazingly the car hadn't flipped.

"Shit! What the fuck?! I wake up to this bullshit?!" Ophelia declared, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut.

Cyrus got out and went to inspect the tires. The rear drivers side had a large size hole in it, no wait....all of the tires were blown!

"What in the hell?!" exclamied Ophelia, as she saw the ruined tires herself.

"Fucking spike strip or something!" Cyrus shouted, kicking the tire, "We're fucked now, cause we're in the middle of nowhere with no one in sight!"

Ophelia sat down on the cold roadside, "Couldn't we play possum again?" she asked.

Cyrus shot her a look, "And just who would come by and save us?! Macfuckinguyver?!"

Ophelia cringed at his words, "You don't have to talk to me like that! It's not my fault we-"

She fell silent as a stranger came walking up to them, calmly and quickly.

"Who the fuck...?" Cyrus started to say, when a gunshot interrupted him.

Cyrus immediately took cover behind the car, pulling Ophelia up and with him.

"What the fuck?!" Ophelia cried out as another bullet zinged against the cars trunk.

"Cops! Fuckin cops got us!" Cyrus shouted, punching the car door with an angry fist.

He popped open a door and slid his hand into the back seats, where two pistols were.

He handed one to Ophelia, "Only one clip, so make your shots count okay?!"

Ophelia nodded nervously, she had fired a weapon before, just never at a cop. Never at someone who had the propensity to fire back...