The Shooter Full Story

Hell all.

(Quick warning: this story was written some time ago and I didn't bother to edit a lot of it. Be careful. As another note the content of this story is very graphic. This is, as you might have guessed, a story about a deranged shooter who will be killing children. If any of the afore mentioned content offends or disturbs you I ask that you do not read this story. Thank you.)

Lloyd Emeric sat on a park bench, waiting.
    He had a half smoked cigarette in his left hand, one of hundreds that lay scattered around his worn red sneakers and heavily faded blue jeans. His other hand was hidden in the pocket of his orange parka, greedily holding a .9mm semi-automatic pistol that would have shone with sweat in the sunlight. But the sun was four hours away and it wasn’t time yet.
    He had been waiting all night long, waiting and smoking. Daydreaming because the real ones wouldn’t come and neither would the time. It felt like it would never be time. Never be ready and he’d be sitting here for hours, days, months or years just waiting.
    That’d be bad; he’d run out of cigarettes.
    Beside him, sitting cross legged like a Buddhist contemplating Samsara, was a little boy he’d judged to be ten or thereabouts. The boy wore a red shirt and a pair of worn overalls that had cuts and new, poorly done seams along the legs and arms. His shoes, bright red sneakers that he’d probably gotten for a birthday or a far gone Christmas which he’d then hated but come to love the next year. His eye were large and the color of the sea in summer.
    Those eyes terrified him.
     Lloyd’s own eyes were heavy and deeply bagged making him look decades older than he was. His eyebrows had grown out too long and his skin looked sickly pale, like it’d stick to your hands if you touched it.
    “Do you have to?” said the boy, his voice (and eyes) pleading.
    “Yes,” Lloyd said not looking.
    “Are you sure?”
    Lloyd didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer because he himself didn’t quite understand it. It was just something that was meant to be, something had to happen weather he liked it or not.
    He threw away the butt of the cigarette, combed through his thinning, grey specked brown hair and breathed for a moment. He rubbed the .9mm like a rubbing stone. For luck, he thought morbidly.
    He took out another cigarette, put it in his mouth and lit it, all with the same hand. Drawing in the smoke used to be fell like ambrosia, a pure and unique pleasure that relaxed him and made him think clearly. But now, now it was just smoke. Just a slight burning that ran down his throat and into his lungs and back again till it came out in a loose puff of grey-blue aether.
    It disgusted him.
    He took another drag, letting the smoke settle too long in his lungs and coughed it out in a fit. The boy still watched him, his eyes concerned and sad. Lloyd didn’t look at him, he stared at the ground looking at nothing, not thinking, only rubbing his .9mm and hoping.
    He closed his eyes, and for a moment the world was complete darkness; nothing touched that darkness. Not even the boy’s piercing blue eyes or his voice. He wanted that darkness to surround him, to embrace him tightly and never let him go till he faded into a blissful and everlasting sleep.
    But he had to open them. He had to let the light back in and continue waiting. And when he did the boy was gone. He had vanished into thin air like a ghost.
    Lloyd breathed a sigh of relief just as a buss was pulling up at the curb. It was yellow, long and he could see children lining up in along the road, waiting.
    The realization came upon like a lightening bolt; it was time.
    The darkness he had seen and the cold void of his daydreams all faded away into nothingness as the boy had done.
    He rose, his legs popping as he did, and started to walk, slowly at first but soon faster as his body adjusted to movement again, towards the curb. They were in plain sight, all lined up in a row and waiting patiently for their turn onto the buss. He could hear them talking to each other. The sound they made was like the buzzing of bees outside a hive, soft at first but as you got closer and closer it became as loud as anything on earth. Drowning out all the world in it’s droning noise.
    He picked up his pace, almost running as he got closer and closer. His hand was still in his pocket. He held his index finger lightly on the trigger, barely able to contain himself. The street crept closer and closer, he could smell the engine’s exhaust roaring out of the back. It smelled harsh and beautiful at the same time.
    Time stopped slowed. Each step felt like he was on the moon. Then, he was there in front of the buss. The children looked at him, some were frightened, others chuckling. His heart was beating faster and faster with each breath, each thought and motion he made seemed like he was seeing it in slow motion.
    The voice was hard, uncaring and scared. His heart beat faster as it spoke. “Hey you, get out of the way.” the man who owned that voice was bald and fat, looking more like a beanbag chair than a person as he scowled at Lloyd from the buss’ driver’s seat.
    Lloyd didn’t answer, his hand was still holding the gun, still rubbing it like a cold, metal rubbing stone. He was ready now. He could feel that in his bones; his very soul. And yet his hands shook like an old man’s; why? He had waited so long, so many wasted nights sitting in the darkness thinking and waiting for this day to come. Hoping and dreaming that he didn’t have to, that he could turn the tables and take himself instead. But that was just a fantasy. A delusion. He knew what he had to do.
    “Well, get the fuck out of the way!” The man stressed the word fuck, and at that, Lloyd pulled out his gun.
    It went off once, twice, three times. The first missed, ricocheted across the walls, hit a kid in the lung, he went down in a flurry of blood and screaming from the others.
    The second hit the fat man in the rib, piercing his heart. The man in his last breath undid the parking-brake stepped on the gas and the buss started to roll down the road, it hit another kid that was too slow to move from it and nearly clipped a few as it started downhill. It left a long, red trail of gore as it did.
    The third shot came when Lloyd fell to the cement floor, landing on his right arm. The fire came, wrenching his hand back into his chest as the gun’s hot barrel smacked him in the face.
    He screamed as he felt his broken arm. A sound deafened by the loud crash that came thundering across the street. Though Lloyd couldn’t hear either, all he heard was a constant ringing that made his teeth ache.
    He lay there in the pavement, looking down the street at the long bloodstain running along the blacktop, shacking and holding his burnt face. Slowly, very slowly, he rose and started to shamble along the sidewalk, limping and coughing as he did. He threw the still hot gun into a bush, he heard it thump down on the ground, and he was off. He could already hear sirens blaring. Whether they were meant for his crime or another he didn’t know or cared to. He had done what he had to, and that was enough.
    The road stretched on and the park faded away into the morning light. His walk soon returned to him as he made his way towards the sun in the horizon. He took out a cigarette, lit it and took a long, smooth drag. It felt.....incredible.
    He looked beside him as he smoked, expecting to see the little boy, but he must’ve scared him away during the shooting because he was nowhere to be seen.
    That made him sad for some reason.
    He threw away what was left of the cigarette, dull to what he had done.

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