You Have My Attention

I’m pretty sure that half of Skippy’s Peanut Butter profits are gained purely due to the sheer amount that Andy buys. Seriously, I swear the boy eats nothing but the stuff!

It’s no surprise to say that Andy goes through a lot of peanut butter on tour, just like Jake does pizza and CC does Poptarts. It was because of this that I was sent out to the shops, armed with a shopping list filled with the various items the band wanted.

I wandered into the nearest convenience store, shivering slightly as the cold air from the refrigerators lining the walls ran over my skin. Scanning every shelf I passed since I had no idea where anything was, I eventually came across Andy’s beloved peanut butter and I found CC’s Poptarts down by the breakfast foods near the milk. Now, pizza for Jake was the only thing left on the list of top priority. Their freezer section wasn’t massive or anything like the ones you see in big supermarkets. They were more like four massive freezer crates that were very deep and just had everything frozen shoved inside.

Accepting the fact I was just going to have to put my basket down and resign myself to the task of digging through the mammoth freezers for pizza Jake likes, I set to work digging. You know, for a man who would probably marry pizza if we travelled to a place that allowed it, he was picky about his toppings, hence, I had to sort through a lot of pizza to find the right one.

The most annoying thing was, I could see the type he likes, it was just really far down! Standing right up on my toes, I leant into the freezer and stretched my hands as far down as I could, grinning as my fingers grazed the box; victory was in reach!

It was then I noticed that the store had gone eerily silent. Before, it was alive with the bustle of people moving around, doing their shopping as part of their everyday lives. Friends who bumped into each other chatted, children ran around demanding their parents brought them ice cream, teenagers tried to buy cigarettes at the counter despite being underage, the usual. Now though, it was quiet enough that you could’ve heard a pin drop. Slowly, I straightened myself up from the freezer, the cold pizza box clutched in my hands.

The reason for the silence that had settled became clear to me as soon as I was upright again, though, to be honest, what I saw made me want to crawl into the freezer and hide. By the cashier’s counter stood a man of average height, with dark brown hair and quite a burly figure. Normal enough, you may think. Well, he would have seemed normal enough, had he not been pointing a gun at the cashier and demanding the money from the register.

Holy fuck! It’s a convenience store robbing! Doesn’t this shit only happen in movies!?

At the sight of the gun, adrenaline kicked in and my fight or flight response came into play. Of course, I’ve never been much of a fighter, so flight was my body’s instinct as I made my way towards the door as quickly and as quietly as I could.

Unfortunately, the man at the counter must have noticed movement in his peripheral vision and turned his attention to me instead of the cashier (who now looked beyond terrified).

It was only as the armed man turned to face me that I got a got look at his face; blue eyes glinted under artificial store-standard lights, his defined jaw was set in place by the snarl building on his lips. Upon seeing him properly, recognition flooded through my mind and a name ran through my brain, making all the blood in my body (metaphorically) turn cold and freezing me in place (which was two metres from the exit, my right foot in front of my left with the pepperoni pizza still in my hands).

“Where do you think you’re going?!” The man growled, drawing his arm up to raise the weapon at me.

“Um, um, I don’t, nowhere, yeah, I…I…” I choked out unintelligibly, the words getting lodged and stuck in my throat out of fear.

“Speak up, punk! What’s your problem?!” he roared, making several of the other frightened customers (I guess we were hostages now? I don’t know…) jump and some of the children whimper.

My ways of displaying emotions are pretty messed up. Sometimes, I laugh when I’m upset purely because I don’t know what else to do. Sometimes, I get angry with myself when I’m nervous, and look mad. And sometimes, just occasionally but usually in horrible circumstances, I get sarcastic when I’m scared.

“I-it might be because you’re pointing a gun at me, what do you think? It’s definitely not because the pizza is making me cold!” I retorted, before immediately regretting it.

Damn me and my big fucking mouth! What the hell is wrong with me! Oh my God! I’m gonna die. He
wanted me dead before, he’ll definitely do it now! This is, of course, presuming that he is who he looks like.

A couple of customers gasped, knowing I’d practically just signed my own death warrant. Everyone knows you never backchat someone in this situation, lest you be killed.

“Don’t sass me you little shit!” he yelled, his finger hovering over the trigger.

“No!” Someone yelled from near the back as I turned around and legged it, running as fast as my legs would carry me. Despite knowing I probably shouldn’t, I looked back over my shoulder, just in time to see the man who strongly resembled my father aim at me with the weapon and fire.

The shot rang out, backed by twenty innocent shopper’s screams.