Viewpoint
By Casey Douglass
as part of #fridayflash
(Something a bit
different this week. Read only the bold text, ignoring the italics, then
when you get to the end, start again at the beginning and read
through it again, but only reading the italics the second time.)
Mike watched the tip
of the hoodie as it crested above the pot noodle stand. His heart
lumped a couple of times as it missed a few beats. Not another one he
thought. Jason browsed the
garishly coloured snacks on the shelves, shaking his head at the
additives and sugar each contained. If his body was a temple, he
certainly wasn’t going to be filling it with prostitutes.
He edged along the counter to the panic button. At a snails pace, he
pushed his hand below the lip of the surface, his finger trembling as
it just touched the garish red plastic. He
paused his aisle roaming and smiled. It didn’t sound right but he
could use that for his art project. He ran a finger along the
bottles, their shiny plastic reflecting the lights into tiny UFO
trails. He looked out through the building length
window. The only other inhabitant of the petrol station was an
elderly man struggling to get the petrol cap off his ageing Rover. He
would be next to worthless if anything kicked off. Damn it. It was
always the way. He shivered
and wrapped his grey jacket around him more tightly. He was glad it
had a hood, this chill or bug or whatever it might be was really
getting to him. He caught a sight of the attendant through the cans
of Pringles. Six times the place had been turned
over this year and it always happened when it was dead. Well, Mike
thought, no doubt the little shits keep watch and choose their
moment. He was looking
through the window with a far away glaze to his eyes. Jason thanked
his lucky stars that he didn’t have to work a job like that. He
knew he would probably start hacking into his wrists with that razor
again. Thankfully, that was a long time ago. He wouldn’t get like
that again. Mike glanced back to ascertain where the
roaming youth was now and jolted as he found himself looking into the
depths of the hood. The boy’s mouth was drawn in an ugly grimace,
the edges drawing up into his cheeks in a way that made Mike think of
the Batman villain Joker. He
decided to give up his hunt for something to eat and just pick up a
packet of cigarettes instead. He moved to the counter and waited, the
attendant still miles away. Jason wondered whether to cough. His
phone vibrated in his pocket. He frowned, knowing it would be Teresa.
She never got the hint. He placed one hand on the counter and pushed
his other into his pocket. The boy stood on the other
side of the counter, one hand upon the counter, the other hidden in
his left hoodie pocket. Mike’s eyes stared at the covered hand,
watching for any tell-tale sign of a sharp edge. The boy spoke.
Adrenaline shot through Mike’s veins, a slight convulsion rippling
through his organs and setting him trembling. He pushed the button.
The attendant turned. Mike
asked for a packet of Marlboro. The attendant flinched, and the world
got a whole lot louder.
THE END
