Thursday, May 28, 2009

The Passenger 1.5

“Hi, you dumb mother-fucker.”

With that curse, the passenger lifted his pistol in a blurred motion, and snapped off a quick shot, which took the man in the door way in the head. As the man’s head snapped to the side, the shooter jumped off the ground, aimed toward the other four antagonists, and fired four more shots in quick succession.

Each shot took the intended target cleanly between the eyes, dropping them backwards as the dull thud of lifeless bodies punctuated the gunfire.

The reaction from the soldiers outside was immediate. Even before the last corpse had hit the pavement, a barrage of hot lead began perforating the Starbucks, tearing into decorations and patrons alike.

The passenger rolled out of his sitting position, and bolted for the rear exit. One customer was still standing in the middle of the shop, staring dumbstruck at the destruction raining around her. As the passenger passed her, he paused to push the woman down, away from the rain of fire.

“Get down, idiot!” The delay in saving the woman’s life enabled the gunmen outside to draw a bead on the passenger, and he pitched forward as a bullet passed straight through his arm just above the elbow.

Cursing a blue streak, he turned the tumble into a roll, trying to take away as much of the impact as possible from his wounded arm.
The passenger came to his feet, and shed his jacket. Blood streamed copiously from the wound in his arm, but he didn’t dare break his momentum. Just as he reached the back door to the alley behind the coffee shop, the door slammed shut in his face.

Rebounding off the solid wood door, the passenger hit the floor with a dull thud, and lay there groaning. Bullets whizzed over his head, shredding the various pieces of eclectic art that had been hanging on the wall, and utterly demolishing the pieces of furniture that had been scattered throughout the cafe.

The passenger took the time he had while he was on the ground to rip a strip off of his t-shirt and tie it in a tight knot around his elbow. With the flow of blood staunched, he began edging his way to the door. The gunfire had finally stopped, which meant that his attackers were going to try infiltrating the establishment for another look.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The Passenger, part 1

The window splintered inward with the force of the blast, decapitating the driver with large shards of glass. Even before the remains of the windshield had passed backwards from the driver’s compartment into the rest of the limo, the passenger in the back had already opened the door, and had hit the pavement running.

As the passenger ran towards the cover of a near-by Starbucks, his assailants adjusted for his sudden burst of movement, and began tracking a hail of destructive fire towards him. Rooster-tails began to kick up all around him, the impacts of bullets fired in a hurried attempt to mark the target.

Not even bothering to use the door to the building, the passenger hurled himself through the window, arms covering his head. The plate glass shattered with the force of his impact, giving way and allowing the passenger to tumble into the coffee shop and come to a rest at the foot of a table, where its inhabitants promptly jumped up, spilling their lattes onto the surface, causing the liquid to spill over onto the passenger, covering him with piping hot beverages.

The passenger rolled away from the table, back towards the shattered window, where he came to a low sitting position with his back towards the wall. Reaching into his latte covered jacket, he removed a black and olive hand gun and racked the slide. The gunfire coming from the street outside had stopped, so the man took a deep breath, and waited.

On the busy intersection, chaos reigned. Cars that had been caught in the initial attack were flipped onto their sides, windows blown out. The occupants still conscious inside their cars were screaming for help, but no one who had witnessed the ferocity of the strike were rushing out to assist. Far in the distance, sirens began to wail, announcing the imminent arrival of emergency services.

At the epicenter of the blast stood a smoking husk of a car, which trained observers would recognized as the cause of the explosion. When the car had detonated, it had been directly in front of the target limo, and had been designed to either immobilize or destroy the luxury vehicle.

A large trail of pock-marks stretched from the wrecked limo to the Starbucks, tracing the passenger’s flight into the shop.
Emerging from vantage points all around the blast radius, various figures clad in black paramilitary uniforms advanced cautiously towards the coffee house, readying their assault rifles. A group of five assailants posted up beside the door, opposite of where their target was currently taking refuge.

With a silent hand signal from his commander, the lead gunman lifted his rifle to shoulder height, and pressed the door open.

Monday, May 4, 2009

Self-Fulfilling Prophesy

Straight off the dome, words polished like chrome,
I’ll hit you where you live; my ideas will follow you home.
My words are my weapons, the internet my machine,
It's never ending, like a gossamer dream.
You’ll sit around, scratching your head, waiting for my next trick,
It’s coming at you soon, Max Becomes Electric.