7-11

Something funny happened to me the other night.

I was walking on the shitty sidewalk, the garbage fluttering around and all, my boots squeaking like crazy. I was headed towards the 7-11 a couple of blocks from my apartment, just to get a couple bags of chips and a six-pack of Coors. It was a pretty slow night, and I didn’t really want a proper meal.

I was planning on watching a random slasher movie, something that would really make me want to puke out my guts. The air felt stale, which wasn’t really a surprise since there was more smoke than oxygen in Brooklyn.

Anyways, I entered the store and only a couple of people were there. I looked for the aisle where they stacked the chips and got two bags of Lays and four bags of Cheetos. I didn’t get some dip, since they only had salsa and I hate salsa.

I went to those refrigerators with the transparent doors (don’t know what the fuck they’re called) and got the beer. It was pretty stupid of me not grabbing one of the shopping baskets that were stacked by the entrance since I had some trouble balancing everything in my arms.

I was just about to reach the cash register when a trucker guy smashed into me like a retard. I dropped everything on the floor, of course.

“Watch where you’re going, little fucker.” He murmured. It sounded almost like a low growl, but I guess that’s just me.

He walked pass like nothing happened, placed a dozen red bulls on the counter and took out his wallet. I picked up the chips and beer and balanced them on my arms again. I took a step forward and hoped to god that I won’t drop them.

I didn’t, and that was good.

I stood behind the trucker guy and waited. He seemed like he was hitting on the cashier or something. It was pretty disturbing.

“Your hair looks like a brown cloud.” He said, trying to sound seductive. It wasn’t working. I almost laughed.

He turned around, looked at me for a second, scoffed, and then walked away. I placed the bags of chips and the beer on the counter and looked up.

Now, I don’t wanna sound cheesy, but I was pretty startled when I looked at that girl. She was pretty. No, scratch that, she was gorgeous. I practically dropped my wallet while I fumbled for the bill. That moment was turning into a fucking soap opera. I couldn’t have that.

“Sir, this is a hundred.” She said monotonously. I blinked a couple of times before I answered.

“Sorry?”

“This is a hundred. Do you have a smaller bill?” she asked.

“Um, yeah.” I replied, taking the money from her and giving her a twenty. Man, I really got distracted by that girl.

She gave me my change and a bag with the groceries in it. My hands felt cold, and I almost dropped it. “Thanks.” I said sheepishly. She smiled and I walked away.

Now, I don’t know if it was just because I was born unlucky or maybe I just made a bad decision in picking the place to buy my improper dinner, but I was just about to get out of there when five men entered.

They had stockings over their faces and held handguns.

“Everybody, down on the floor! This is a hold-up!” one of them announced. At first I hesitated. I thought about running the hell outta there and forgetting that it never happened, but my train of thought was cut off by a sharp pain in my right shoulder. I dropped the bag and screamed in pain.

“Get down on the fucking ground or I’m gonna have to put a second one in ya’.” One of the men said. I only then realized that the pain in my shoulder was a bloody, gaping hole.

I was shot by a fat motherfucker in black skinny jeans.

I wailed onto the floor. The hole was sucking the life out of me. It felt like it was on fire. My bones felt like powder. I was helpless.

A hold-upper took a handkerchief and a plastic handcuff out of his back pocket. He came over to me and locked my wrists together with the handcuff. He jammed the handkerchief into my mouth. I tasted like shit.

“Shut the fuck up.” He pressed and started searching my jeans pocket. He got my phone and my wallet and tucked it into his fanny pack.

I looked for the girl. I guess I was a little curious about what’s gonna happen to her than what’s gonna happen to me. I was too confident in thinking that I wasn’t going to die.

Then I saw her. Her wrists were bound but there was no handkerchief stuck in her mouth. She was scared to death and I wasn’t. A man held a gun to her head. Maybe that’s why.

“Where’s the safe?” he asked with force.

“What safe?” she replied.

“The manger’s safe. Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s the manager then?”

“Florida.”

“Are you shitting with me Tinkerbelle? ‘Cause if you are I’ll put a bullet right through your head.”

“H-he’s with his wife in Florida. He took a l-leave.”

He retracted his gun. “Well whoop-dee-fucking-doodle-doo, you didn’t tell me the damn manager wasn’t here Rod.” He said to one of the men.

“Sorry boss. I-I didn’t know.” He sounded as scared as the girl was. “Maybe the girl knows where it is and she just doesn’t want to say.”

The ‘boss’ seemed like he took it into consideration, since he paused for a while. He nodded and then held the gun once more towards the girl’s head. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know.” She said once more.

He inhaled. “I’m asking you again, where the fuck is the goddamn safe?!”

“I don’t know where the safe is!” she wailed back.

I heard the man sigh. He looked at his shoes and then back at the girl. It was so quiet you could hear a piece of paper drop.

For a second, I caught a glimpse of her eyes. She was looking straight at me, and it gave me a shiver. She was crying. I felt a lump form in my throat and I though I was gonna cry too. The nametag pinned to her shirt said Roslyn, and I thought it was a pretty name.

She kept looking at me though, and I kept looking back.

“I’m asking you for the last time, where is the safe?” the man seemed calmer. I didn’t know why.

“I swear, I don’t know.” She replied, never taking her eyes off me.

“Okay then.” The man said.

Then, he pulled the trigger.

Boom.

In a split second, Roslyn became a bloody cadaver on the white tiled floor.