Heist
Heist
The street lamp by the side of the road flickered, casting unnerving orange and black shadows across the sidewalk. The light became mixed with the glow of the 7-11 which seemed to linger on it’s own in the darkness, all other nearby shops closed and locked up. Swiftly the automatic doors pinged open and a sole figure wandered out, pulling his leather jacked closer to himself.
It was early January and colder than usual. The air was sharp and the sky was littered with millions of tiny icicle stars that blurred into the blackness. The coldness that had fitted the December time festivities now felt out of place. Instead it was eerie and bleak, and maybe a little unnerving.
It was his wife who’d made him go to the store. Get me some milk, she had said and, apparently, it couldn’t have waited until morning. But still, he worshipped the ground his wife walked on so Billie Joe Armstrong did as he was told. Even if deep down inside he could sense something was wrong. That feeling where you want to hide in your basement until you know you’re safe, even if everything seems normal.
Billie’s converse scuffed along the sidewalk as he walked further into the abandoned streets, idly swinging the newly bought milk carton in his icy hands.
It was quiet. It was still.
Crack!
Knees buckling, milk carton exploding on the floor, Billie fell forwards as something came into contact with the back of his head, five large men dressed in black encircling him. The silence in which they had approached made their attack all the more surprising on unsuspecting Billie. Everything was a blur as they pushed him down further into the concrete, the cold gravel grating at his fragile skin.
“Shut the hell up,” one of the men barked. Billie hadn’t even realised he was screaming until he was hit over the head again with, what now he realised was, the butt of a gun.
With one swift move the masked men flipped him on his back, twisting his arms into the ground. Billie let out another groan of pain before being silenced by the deathly sound of the gun being loaded. He felt the cold metal stick awkwardly into his temple as his struggles were stopped by the strength of the men. Strength his tiny frame couldn’t compete with.
He was pinned to the floor and helpless as one of them straddled his tiny hips, their weight causing increasing discomfort. Billie’s eyes screamed as his mouth was gagged, his jacket removed and his shirt slowly unbuttoned exposing his chest to the bitter cold. His mind racing, Billie could only think that he was about to be raped.
“Shut. The. Hell. Up.” One of the men ordered again, attempting to silence Billie’s whimpering as tears streamed down from his green eyes. All ideas of rape vanished from Billie’s mind as the man on his hips leant towards him and smirked before pulling a scalpel out of his pocket.
“You have something that we need,” he growled in Billie's ear, “I hope you don’t mind if we just take it…”
And then there was a blinding light. Bright torches shined down on Billie as the madmen held down his struggles. He couldn’t see- the light and the bump on the head had disorientated him. He couldn’t see, but he sure as hell could feel when the scalpel was pushed into his skin above his hip.
His body arched upwards as his face contorted in agony, letting out a muffled scream. He saw red, his mind tumbling over itself as they stabbed at him like untrained butchers carving meat. The pain grew worse as the gash was widened and a gloved hand reached inside his body at his organs. It was then he wished he would die. But even unconsciousness wouldn’t come to the anguished man.
Billie tried to let his mind wander. He tried to think of his wife. He tried to think of his children, but all he could think of was the searing hot pain that engulfed his entire consciousness and how he was being violated in the worst possible way.
“Got it,” the man said, but Billie didn’t hear. His body had become limp and tired as blood loss had finally taken its toll. A freezer bag appeared from nowhere as if from magic and the stolen organ was placed inside. Billie rolled his head to the side. He’d never seen a real life kidney before.
It was early January and it was colder than usual as they left Billie laying there, splayed on his back, blood pooled beside him. They’d had the decency to stitch him up if that counted for anything. Unconsciousness had finally taken him, his heart slowing down to a scary, uneven rhythm.
All was silent in the empty streets.
--
“Don’t cry.”
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“Fuck the media, Mike.”
“She’s driving me crazy.”
“Where the hell have you been, young man?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Tre.”
“I can’t believe how long it’s been.”
“Do you think he can hear us, mom?”
“Mom?” Joey tapped his mother on the shoulder as he noticed his fathers eyes flicker. It had been almost a month and a half since the attack, and Billie hadn’t woken from his comatose slumber, “Mom, look…dad’s eyes.”
He’d been lucky, Billie had. The clerk from the 7-11 had heard muffled screams and seen it all happen. The ambulance had arrived maybe a minute after the gang left Billie and he was rushed to hospital.
“What?”
“They’re flickering…” Joey frowned, moving closer to the still body of his father. Billie’s eyes flickered more rapidly, his wife and child watching closer and closer, their hopes rising. His eyes lay still for a fraction of a second before both lids simultaneously opened, only slightly at first.
“Oh my god,” Adrienne said, placing a hand to her forehead. Billie’s heart monitor beeped faster, as if he was slowly coming to life. And then his eyes were open, his beautiful green irises resting slowly on his wife. She could have died on the spot.
“Billie?” She asked, tears welling in her eyes. She grabbed his hand and sat in the chair next to the bed, “Billie…”
Billie moved his hand to the skin above his hip, feeling the rough stitches through the gauze bandage. It had happened, it wasn’t a dream and it stung like a mother fucker. The memories began to flood back, haunting him to his very core. He knew then that this was something he would never get over.
“You have something that we need, I hope you don’t mind if we just take it…”
Billie looked back at his wife. Even then looking in her joyful eyes, a tiny part of him couldn’t help but wish he’d died that night.
--
Fin.
It was early January and colder than usual. The air was sharp and the sky was littered with millions of tiny icicle stars that blurred into the blackness. The coldness that had fitted the December time festivities now felt out of place. Instead it was eerie and bleak, and maybe a little unnerving.
It was his wife who’d made him go to the store. Get me some milk, she had said and, apparently, it couldn’t have waited until morning. But still, he worshipped the ground his wife walked on so Billie Joe Armstrong did as he was told. Even if deep down inside he could sense something was wrong. That feeling where you want to hide in your basement until you know you’re safe, even if everything seems normal.
Billie’s converse scuffed along the sidewalk as he walked further into the abandoned streets, idly swinging the newly bought milk carton in his icy hands.
It was quiet. It was still.
Crack!
Knees buckling, milk carton exploding on the floor, Billie fell forwards as something came into contact with the back of his head, five large men dressed in black encircling him. The silence in which they had approached made their attack all the more surprising on unsuspecting Billie. Everything was a blur as they pushed him down further into the concrete, the cold gravel grating at his fragile skin.
“Shut the hell up,” one of the men barked. Billie hadn’t even realised he was screaming until he was hit over the head again with, what now he realised was, the butt of a gun.
With one swift move the masked men flipped him on his back, twisting his arms into the ground. Billie let out another groan of pain before being silenced by the deathly sound of the gun being loaded. He felt the cold metal stick awkwardly into his temple as his struggles were stopped by the strength of the men. Strength his tiny frame couldn’t compete with.
He was pinned to the floor and helpless as one of them straddled his tiny hips, their weight causing increasing discomfort. Billie’s eyes screamed as his mouth was gagged, his jacket removed and his shirt slowly unbuttoned exposing his chest to the bitter cold. His mind racing, Billie could only think that he was about to be raped.
“Shut. The. Hell. Up.” One of the men ordered again, attempting to silence Billie’s whimpering as tears streamed down from his green eyes. All ideas of rape vanished from Billie’s mind as the man on his hips leant towards him and smirked before pulling a scalpel out of his pocket.
“You have something that we need,” he growled in Billie's ear, “I hope you don’t mind if we just take it…”
And then there was a blinding light. Bright torches shined down on Billie as the madmen held down his struggles. He couldn’t see- the light and the bump on the head had disorientated him. He couldn’t see, but he sure as hell could feel when the scalpel was pushed into his skin above his hip.
His body arched upwards as his face contorted in agony, letting out a muffled scream. He saw red, his mind tumbling over itself as they stabbed at him like untrained butchers carving meat. The pain grew worse as the gash was widened and a gloved hand reached inside his body at his organs. It was then he wished he would die. But even unconsciousness wouldn’t come to the anguished man.
Billie tried to let his mind wander. He tried to think of his wife. He tried to think of his children, but all he could think of was the searing hot pain that engulfed his entire consciousness and how he was being violated in the worst possible way.
“Got it,” the man said, but Billie didn’t hear. His body had become limp and tired as blood loss had finally taken its toll. A freezer bag appeared from nowhere as if from magic and the stolen organ was placed inside. Billie rolled his head to the side. He’d never seen a real life kidney before.
It was early January and it was colder than usual as they left Billie laying there, splayed on his back, blood pooled beside him. They’d had the decency to stitch him up if that counted for anything. Unconsciousness had finally taken him, his heart slowing down to a scary, uneven rhythm.
All was silent in the empty streets.
--
“Don’t cry.”
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“Fuck the media, Mike.”
“She’s driving me crazy.”
“Where the hell have you been, young man?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Tre.”
“I can’t believe how long it’s been.”
“Do you think he can hear us, mom?”
“Mom?” Joey tapped his mother on the shoulder as he noticed his fathers eyes flicker. It had been almost a month and a half since the attack, and Billie hadn’t woken from his comatose slumber, “Mom, look…dad’s eyes.”
He’d been lucky, Billie had. The clerk from the 7-11 had heard muffled screams and seen it all happen. The ambulance had arrived maybe a minute after the gang left Billie and he was rushed to hospital.
“What?”
“They’re flickering…” Joey frowned, moving closer to the still body of his father. Billie’s eyes flickered more rapidly, his wife and child watching closer and closer, their hopes rising. His eyes lay still for a fraction of a second before both lids simultaneously opened, only slightly at first.
“Oh my god,” Adrienne said, placing a hand to her forehead. Billie’s heart monitor beeped faster, as if he was slowly coming to life. And then his eyes were open, his beautiful green irises resting slowly on his wife. She could have died on the spot.
“Billie?” She asked, tears welling in her eyes. She grabbed his hand and sat in the chair next to the bed, “Billie…”
Billie moved his hand to the skin above his hip, feeling the rough stitches through the gauze bandage. It had happened, it wasn’t a dream and it stung like a mother fucker. The memories began to flood back, haunting him to his very core. He knew then that this was something he would never get over.
“You have something that we need, I hope you don’t mind if we just take it…”
Billie looked back at his wife. Even then looking in her joyful eyes, a tiny part of him couldn’t help but wish he’d died that night.
--
Fin.
♠ ♠ ♠
Meh.