Saturday, August 25, 2007

Someone's Million Dollar Ending

"Okay" mumbled Lars.

A short blur did a lap around him...or that is to say, he couldn't have recognized what it was because he was engrossed in a book. There it went again.

"Right" said Lars, a little louder this time.

The blur wasn't really that fast, but it was frantic. It was short man with his curly hair in a quasi-ponytail. Lars wasn't so interested in the man, as in why the man had an over-sized footprint on the back of his velour shirt.

The man slowed down this time around and situated himself in an alcove just to the left of Lars. Lars was sitting at the streetcar stop and was now regretting that he had not made more of an effort to catch the streetcar that he had just missed. The man's feet were perfectly still, it was the rest of him that was going in about ten different directions.

Lars's first impression was that the man either had Tourette's syndrome or that he was one of those schizophrenics that wig out towards the end of the week, because they sell their medications down at Sixth and Market Streets. The man seemed to be on the verge of a panic and he was looking at everything and everyone but Lars.

During his visual sweep of everything to the left of them, Lars got a chance to get a good look at the footprint on the man's back. It was that of a boot, bigger than a size twelve and as the man turned around, Lars noticed that the man had dirt on all over the front of his shirt and a bloody nose. The man's eyes widened and then gunfire erupted.

The flying debris from the bullets shattering the safety glass of the streetcar stop behind him, forced Lars to close his eyes.

As the last piece of the glass settled, Lars opened his eyes and saw the frantic man would never be agitated again. He was completely still now, except for the blood that was slowly pouring from him and the vacant glass that was now the man's eyes. Lars looked down the street and saw a man with identical hair and clothes as his victim, running away with a small pistol.

Lars took out his cell phone and called 911. He felt bad for the victim that lay before and felt even worse for feeling relieved. Because for the last five months and up until a few minutes ago, Lars would've paid a million dollars to get rid of this bout of writer's block. Now he finally had something to write about.

4 comments:

Princess LadyBug said...

Now that's some cure for writer's block! :P

Well done, my friend.

Writeprocrastinator said...

Princess,

Thanks. Everything but the murder happened, but I imagine this was pretty close to what was going on in this guy's head.

Beth said...

OOOOOOOOOH! Good one, WP.

Writeprocrastinator said...

Beth,

Thank yew very much.