You Don't Know What They Do To Guys Like Me In Prison

I stood abruptly, chair scraping on the floor and shrieking in protest. My arms shook as I turned, the dark coals that used to be my eyes burning into those stupid, stupid children. Of course they only laughed harder, thinking I was some weak middle-aged man. That was their mistake. See, I have a bit of an odd condition. While I am fully aware of my actions while angry, I don’t control them. That’s right. My body takes on a mind of its own, responding (often rather violently) to provocation. People would think that with such a condition I would be horrified by what I’ve done. The thing is, they’re wrong. True, I can’t control my limbs when angry. But those actions? The violence so many think is awful? I love it. I’ve never once regretted anything I’ve done while mad. Not even stabbing my little brother. I love the adrenaline that courses through me, I love watching people’s faces turn from shock to horror. In my mind, it’s absolutely beautiful.

Taunting me was not the right move for these boys. They thought they were safe, in a restaurant crowded with people. They were wrong. My arms had taken on a mind of their own- it was their idea to pull out the gun. Why did I have a gun? I’m naturally a rather paranoid personality- I brought it for protection. Although that was not its new intended use. Shots rang out through the building, each boy falling in turn. Not only was I close, but I was a damn good shot. One of them had his own gun, and started shooting back while the other patrons cowered under their tables. I dodged the bullets as though I were in the freaking matrix, shooting back and hitting his shoulder along with a few other cronies of his that immediately fell down dead. The boy howled in pain, raising the gun in his other hand to aim. It was at this moment that the cops decided to burst in- I guess someone pushed one of those buttons under the reception desk that calls them. They stormed the room, surrounding us on all sides.
“Come with your hands raised high!” One shouted. I looked around for a moment, chuckling to myself. In the middle of a gunfight, in the center of a restaurant; I’m like a bullet through a flock of doves. All these innocent people, cowering while guns fire.

Innocent.

The other boy has dropped his weapon, holding his injured shoulder and stumbling over to the cops.

“C’mon son, you’re going to prison.” One muttered, pulling the boy aside. Prison. There is no way in hell I’m going back there. And so I’ll get out of this, the same way I got in. I grabbed the arm of a bystander, some random man under the table beside me. I yanked him to me, putting him directly in front of me with my gun to his head. They couldn’t shoot now- if they tried they would hit him too.

“Drop your weapons.” I hissed, watching them carefully with a malign glower on my face.

“Sir, we can’t-“

“I said drop them NOW!” I snarled, cocking the gun and pressing the cool metal hard against the man’s temple. He shook slightly, a tiny whimper leaving his lips. I smirked as the cops raised their hands, dropping their guns.

“Kick them away.” They did as I told them.

“Good… Now you let me walk out of here and leave in my car unharmed, or this man’s blood-“ I shook the person in my arms. “-will be on your head!” They seemed to discuss with their eyes for a moment while I stared them down. I pressed the pistol harder against his head, my finger on the trigger. The lead cop finally nodded to the others, and the ones near the entrance broke the circle, allowing me a pathway. I watched each of them in turn, before carefully turning around and pushing my hostage forward first. If they had a sniper waiting outside, he wouldn’t shoot unless he was positive he wouldn’t this man. Too bad he would never get that shot. I dragged the man into my car, keeping the gun carefully pressed to his head while we both got in. I didn’t bother with seatbelts. Instead I sped off into the night, one hand on the steering wheel and the other keeping the gun at his temple.

Notes

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