One Shots/Short Stories

It was the chill of morning that roused me on that stillborn day. The predawn sky was a blanket of clouds, heavy with the smell of petrol and the fading grassy perfume of the night. A deluge of cigarette butts had piled up in the gutter, and the streets ran with oily rivulets. Even the horizons were bleached, dim hilltops cradling the void between their soggy crests.

I leaned into the clammy bus shelter, attempting to assemble some sense of myself. I begrudged any morning that saw me up so early, let alone one so miserably cold and devoid of coffee. Dull hunger nagged my consciousness as the wind buffetted me against the concrete, beating down the headache that seemed to swell on the tide of passing traffic. The suburbs were empty in the predawn twilight. Only the city streets would be populated with the leftovers of the previous night’s clubbing scene- smoking off hangovers along the vacant sidewalks.

I didn’t even know where I was going, really. I was just waiting for something –anything- to take me out of suburbia. It was quiet, waiting- my surroundings sunk into my skull like a lead weight through butter. That’s one of the side-effects of insomnia- you can never think, excepting when you think too much. You never get any peace in your own head.

And I was fed up. Today I was going to break this nightmare. And so I dragged myself outside, at an hour I usually like to pretend doesn't exist, to make a final, incontestable attempt to lift the smothering haze. Absently, I fingered the parcel inside my jacket. This was the seed of action, swathed securely in beaten leather...

...But not now.

A distant, diesel rumbling crawled over the hilltop, slowing to steady halt in its empty berth; a colossal beast of industry. Summoning strength, I straightened up. Two dollars would get me all the exchange I needed to make this actually happen. Two dollars was the last contact I would require before I could shatter the pattern itself, bringing down monotony from the inside. The whole process was mechanical, so that seconds later I was seated again on a lurching carriage- a dangerous cargo for such an unsuspecting freight.

I found the city square in foggy daybreak. Pigeons scattered the pavement, scurrying in the stirring central plaza. Maples sprawled their cathedral arches of drenched greenery, their paved bases littered with the detritus of their own dispatched foliage. Alone, I strode through it all, denying the throbbing ache in my temple and the ticking at the back of my skull. I still hadn’t had any coffee. A quick light-up would have to do, to calm my nerves.

I pulled into a grimy alleyway, tucking myself into the convenient niche between a loading bay and a rain-slicked drainpipe, from whence I could survey the open square. Sheltered from the wind, I flicked a bright tongue from its plastic holster and forced the end of a cigarette into the flame. It was a deft movement, but for some reason it taxed me an unusual concentration. My fingers just weren’t themselves.

With relief I took a long drag. The smoke stung my eyes, blurring my vision. I stood there for about ten minutes, immobile and wholly absorbed in satisfying my need, until the final, ashy stub went out and I let it tumble onto the asphalt. It was my last one. As the butt dropped, I thought I caught a movement out on the periphery of my vision...

It was time.

In my rush, I almost panicked. My every sense was honed on ambition. This was it, the moment on which everything pended. I watched her like a hawk, heels clicking against the hard ground, her face fixed downward. She thought she was going somewhere, maybe? Not today. Fumbling, my cold hands found the parcel and carefully withdrew its prize. I couldn’t miss this moment. And then, in one precise, fluid motion, my slick, black mechanical beauty was poised before me, its streamline body shining in the exposed air, her clumsy frame fixed in its sight.

I didn’t see the bullet streaming, an axis of motion on the air. I only saw her fall, toppled over as though colliding with some invisible bulk. There was an incomprehensible cry that echoed through the plaza, scattering clouds of cooing pigeons. Otherwise, the square was empty, and yet every inch of silence, every glassy window, every towering billboard, every avian eye, seemed intent on me, and her, and the span of concrete distance between us. I could see from where I stood the dark stain spreading out from beneath the crumpled shadow. I knew what I’d done.

An ugly smile curled my cracked lips. My pulse doubled as I stood immobilised. They’d be coming. Any minute now…

From somewhere I heard footsteps racing. He emerged from behind the side of the building, running. With calm calculation, I cocked back the barrel of my black predator, and loaded another shot. I lifted the weapon, holding it steady despite the surging thrill of purpose. Twenty metres. Ten now. Eight, five, two… Click. There was another blast, another cry, another toppled former-human. I could silence them in one shot. Two shots was already a giveaway. And I was ready. There was no turning back now.

I was drawing a crowd. Into the vacant, dawning plaza they streamed like cockroaches out of every crack and crevice of the streets. There were cries of shock and horror, and further screams and panic as I gunned down five more. That was all I had.

They were too wary to converge on my right away. But sooner or later, I knew, one of them would figure out that I was unarmed. It was all too clear even in this city of rust and human decay what was going on. I couldn’t run. There was nowhere to go. But I knew this would happen, in the end… I just wanted to break the façade.