Flash Fiction - Get Money or Die trying.
It was a grim November morning, one that was typical of the North. His leather jacket hugged his muscular torso, right up to the stubble under his chin; his matching gloves rolled up into fists besides his body. He unclenched one, to pull the hood over his hair, keeping his gaze low. Unknown faces went by doing their everyday business. Zeth was here to do his.
He approached the automatic doors and waited for an old lady to walk out. He hung back for a moment.
“Beep beep beep beep beep”. The life machine sounded in his head.
This was it he thinks, it’s now or never.
As he entered he glances over at the extensive queue. His stomach rumbles; he can’t remember the last time a morsel passed his lips. Growing impatient he joins the queue watching each cashier in turn.
“Your son doesn’t have much time left Sir. We can’t find him a heart transplant”
Finally a desk became available. He walks over to the counter.
“Hello, how can I help you?”
‘STAY CALM. FILL THE BAG UP WITH AS MUCH MONEY AS YOU CAN. DO NOT RAISE AN ALARM. I HAVE A GUN.” Read the note. He passes it to her with a faint smile.
“Is...Is it erm a deposit you’re making today sir, or a with-withdrawal” the cashier stutters.
He fits a small bag under the glass pane. He wasn’t interested in anything more than he needed. The alarm goes off. He pulls it out. BANG! Red discolours his leathers.
“Police here! Put your hands in the air where we can see them!”
Zeth pauses. This is it he thinks once again. Zeth raises the weapon to his head. Another Bang! It rockets through his body, creating an earthquake of a blast behind him. He can wait for his son now, when he arrives.
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