#ThursThreads Week 414 : Everything Comes Full Circle

Laying down in the bed of my truck wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had, but I wasn’t going to whine, after all, I was doing this because everything comes full circle. And the people that had killed my sister had it coming. My sister. Shot full of holes by some ass hole with a gun. A gun he wouldn’t have had, if not for these people.

After a deep breath, I double checked everything. “3 AR-15s, all loaded. Check.” One piece at a time, carefully, it had to all be right. I’d only have one chance. “3 clips for each, all loaded and ready. Check.” I already knew I wasn’t going home that night. I wasn’t going home ever.

It occurred to me I was going to miss watching the sun rise, but that was OK. My sister deserved to be remembered. Especially by those people.

Just past nine that night, the front door of the building across the street opened, and the first people started walking out. “Patience. Patience. Not yet.” I waited. There had to be enough of them outside before I acted.

“There. That’s enough.” I aimed an AR-15 from the bed of my truck, and I opened fire. I shot as many of those bastards and bitches as I could. It was karma, unleashed.

That’s how I wound up here, talking to Satan about the NRA, and how their meeting was the perfect time to complete the circle.

243 Words

It’s Week 414 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. And more words in whatever it is that’s writing itself have turned up. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.


#ThursThreads Week 357 : They Are So Sweet

Gregory used the glass of water to wash down another Oxycodone, then patiently waited for it to kick in. “Going to be a long night.” He patted his 357, in the shoulder holster under his left arm. “Hope you’re ready, darling.” To be certain, he pulled the thin, flat ammunition case from his coat pocket, and verified it contained two full reloads of ammunition for the 357. Jacketed hollow points, every round.

“Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?” It was Friday night. The chief of police and his wife were going to watch a movie at the local theater, and then have a seafood dinner at the pier. Just like they did every Friday night. “Arrest my friends because they take this stuff to survive? Yeah. That’s wrong.”

His friend Evan had committed suicide to stop his pain while he was inside the city jail. Pain that couldn’t be escaped. That was always there. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Pain the Oxycodone helped control. Evan’s doctor refused to refill his prescriptions. “I could get arrested if I give you any more.”

Evan had found a street vendor of Fentanyl. It was the only option he’d had. The police busted him.

Then, Gregory’s doctor denied his refill. For two weeks, Gregory wondered what to do. “The chief, and his wife. Aw. They are so sweet. If it wasn’t for him, none of this would have happened.”

After he shot them, Gregory would blow his head off and escape his pain forever.

247 Words

It’s Week 357 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up weekly.