Peace, Love, and Ammunition

Welcome to Godlimations. We hope you enjoy your visit.

You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.

Join our community!

If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Peace, Love, and Ammunition; Short Story
Topic Started: 2 Jul 2008, 01:59 PM (244 Views)
Cameron	2 Jul 2008, 01:59 PM Post #1
Administratinator Posts: 1,740 Group: Admin Member #1 Joined: 20 December 2007	Peace, Love, and Ammunition My spurs clanked on the ground as I walked into the coffee shop and took my place in line behind the twenty-something. He was placing his order. “Grande macchiato, fat free, soy milk, organic, extra foam, non-acidic, Caravaggio blend, fresh filtered, and decaf, with the nutrient boost and a sprinkling of cinnamon and nutmeg on top.” The barista took this all down and asked, “Would you like free trade or locally grown?” “Both.” “All right. I’ll have that for you in a couple minutes. Next.” I sauntered up. “Cup of Joe, black.” The whole place went silent. No one was pecking at their keyboards. Not a soul was texting on their cell phones. All debates over child labor laws in northern Whats-it-stan ceased. It was then that a man came in, his handmade turtleneck sweater distinctly ruffled. To be that out-of-fashion he would have to be scared, really scared. “The Benson brothers are back, and they’re out for revenge!” he whimpered “They’re holding up the bank right now!” I reached for my Magnum. Five years ago, when this yuppie town had hired me on as sheriff, they had had a problem with my pistol. I heard statements like “violence is never the answer” and “guns are for Huns.” I naturally refused to give it up. We argued a lot, and eventually came to a compromise: I could keep my gun, but I wasn’t allowed to have any bullets. If I hadn’t been desperate for a job, I wouldn’t have had to stoop this low. I hopped in my truck and headed for the bank. I didn’t have time put the siren or the flashing lights on top. Didn’t have time to obey traffic laws either. Not that it mattered, I was the only cop in this place. Who’d pull me over? I pulled up to the side of the bank and snuck around the corner. One of the Benson brothers was standing watch. Since the others had left him as a guard, not doing anything important, I assumed he was the stupid one. I moved in on his side, quiet-like. He heard me at the last second and turned to face me, only to get a roundhouse kick in the face. He went down like Uncle Ben after too much whiskey. I picked up his gun and checked it. Magnum, not as good as mine, but it used the same bullets. I loaded my gun and peeked inside the bank. Last time these guys came into town, I had to put seven of them in jail. With the dopey one lying on the ground, that left six. So when I counted six idiots holding the place up, I wasn’t surprised. Well, six bad guys, six bullets. So long as I made every shot count, I shouldn’t have had a problem. Suddenly I heard something nearby. “Psst!” I looked. One of the townsfolk was beside me crouched down. “You going inside?” he said. “No. I thought I’d just sit here and let them rob the bank. Of course I’m going in there you idjit.” “Oh. Well, make sure you don’t hurt anyone.” “Make…sure…I…don’t…hurt…anyone. Yeah. You may have noticed they have guns.” “Guns aren’t the solution to everything. Try a non-judgmental discussion of values. Give peace a chance.” “Oh, I’ll definitely give it a chance. After I shoot these guys it’ll be really peaceful around here.” I put my hand on my gun, Maggie as I sometimes like to call her, and strode through the door. I called out, “You sewer rats have three seconds to throw down your guns and reach for the sky. One-” One of them fired off a blast from his pistol. The bullet whizzed by my head. I shot a round straight into his shoulder. “Three.” I strafed to the left and clipped off another pair of rounds. The next Benson in line would be nursing a gut shot for the next few days. His brother had a round graze his temple, knocking him unconscious. As I hid behind a column I heard cries of “My spleen!” I readied myself, patted Maggie, and leapt from behind the pillar. One of the Bensons, another stupid one, had crept up close to me with his shotgun. I fired and sent the weapon flying across the room. The goon got another of my patented roundhouse kicks, the boot leaving a size-twelve stamp of authenticity on his cheek. Another Benson got the original idea of hiding behind one of the columns. I could see his reflection in the glass windows. I took careful aim at the wall and tried for a ricochet shot. If causing a grown man to scream like a little girl is any measure of success, then I was pretty successful. The last brother stepped out of the safe and aimed at me. I shot first. Missed. I had fired six bullets and hit five brothers. Even a kindergartener could do the addition, and the sum was: I’m dead. I dived for cover behind a desk. There was a woman there, hiding from the fight. There were no guns close by, nothing I could get to before the eldest Benson turned me into Swiss cheese. I prayed for one more bullet. The woman said, “Try having a non-judgmental discussion of values with him.” I suddenly wished for two more bullets. It occurred to me that shooting unarmed civilians was frowned on by the U.S. government, no matter how annoying they were. Bobby Benson, the one who was still standing, suddenly let out a chuckle. “Come on Sherriff. I know you’re out of bullets. Come out now and I’ll kill ya nice and quick-like.” I considered my options. No bullets. No way of getting them. And what was worse was he knew I was out, so there was no way of bluffing him. There was no backup arriving, and none of the other people in the bank were going to do anything. That meant I only had one option. One stupid freakin’ option. I shouted across the building, “How about we have one of those, you know, non-judgmental discussions of, um, values.” “What did you just say there?” “You know, give peace a chance. I thought we could talk about, well, you know, your current lack of funds and your, um, problems with the capitalist system.” “You serious?” “Unfortunately.” “You actually wanna talk about my problems?” “Yes.” I said, trying not to grit my teeth. “Well, shoot, I’ll give it a shot.” I cautiously crept out. He was walking toward me. What did I have to lose? “So,” I said, “what brings a guy like you to rob a bank?” “Well, you see…. When I was just a young ‘un, my daddy always told me that a man should provide for his own. Me and my brothers, we worked like dogs. But then the recession came, and that hit hard. We were laid off, couldn’t make a decent living. Well, our families couldn’t go hungry. We took to stealin’. Even after the recession was over, we couldn’t give it up. It was an addiction you know?” He walked towards me, arms extended for a hug. I punched him in the gut, and knocked him unconscious with a second blow. Maybe this discussion thing was a lot more useful than I had thought. If half the crooks I fought were this sappy….
	Note that Cameron is not Patrick and does not run Godlimations.


Luemas	16 Jan 2009, 05:09 PM Post #2
All ur Walrus R belong to Me Posts: 4,034 Group: Members Member #189 Joined: 14 January 2009	Well done story, you really have a knack for story writing.
	Vote for Lue to make Sad Panda... Happy Panda?


Cameron	16 Jan 2009, 11:43 PM Post #3
Administratinator Posts: 1,740 Group: Admin Member #1 Joined: 20 December 2007	Thank you.
	Note that Cameron is not Patrick and does not run Godlimations.


Giul	17 Jan 2009, 07:16 AM Post #4
World Traveler/Fighter Posts: 1,792 Group: Moderator Member #28 Joined: 15 February 2008	Drunken has the best stories in godlimations. I wonder when He will make another.
	"This is our world. Look after it. We can make a difference." -Spot the Difference final stage Giul Michael and Jen. The Slicing Students. Godlimations RPG


ARAZEC	18 Jan 2009, 12:25 PM Post #5
This Person Has No Life Posts: 4,047 Group: Members Member #48 Joined: 18 June 2008	me too hope soon enjoy reading his stories really hope for something serious......
	OTTOR never BE SORRY


Cameron	20 Jan 2009, 08:17 PM Post #6
Administratinator Posts: 1,740 Group: Admin Member #1 Joined: 20 December 2007	I'm working on the next one. I'll see about something serious.
	Note that Cameron is not Patrick and does not run Godlimations.


ARAZEC	20 Jan 2009, 09:30 PM Post #7
This Person Has No Life Posts: 4,047 Group: Members Member #48 Joined: 18 June 2008	are you serious?
	OTTOR never BE SORRY


« Previous Topic · Cameron · Next Topic »