FULL CIRCLE
This is a very short story about the last few seconds of Hank Schrader's life. I do not own the magnificent creations of the supremely talented Vince Gilligan. Please comment nicely!
"Do what you're going to do." As he looked up at the sky, ASAC Hank Schrader tried to imagine his death as part of a movie scene. The last sound he wanted to hear was not the empty echo of a pistol shot but the cheers of lawmen all over the country. He'd earned those cheers, and they meant something. It took guts to face down a bullet. It proved he was a real man.
But time slows down when a man has only a split second to live. Memories can be inconvenient things. Hank wanted to remember making love to Marie, scoring that touchdown against Central High, the good times with Gomez and the boys. All his life, his fists won him respect and his badge brought him all the beers and good times he could handle.
"Do what you're going to do." Somewhere he'd heard those words before. A face he saw in his mind, a fleeting memory he'd covered up with years of busting heads and screwing.
K.C. was the kid's name. Really it was Brandon or some preppy name like that. But the guys on the football team called him K.C. for some reason Hank never figured out.
It was only one time. Only one time he'd hung out with the kid, talking about his jerk off problems and listening to the school outcast play his stupid guitar. But it was enough for rumors to spread. Everyone knew Brandon was queer. So what did that make Hank?
"Do what you're going to do." K.C. was nothing. He didn't play any sports. He didn't go out with girls. He didn't even like guns. The only shooting he did was into a Kleenex.
"You know what I heard, K.C.? I hear you take it up the ass." Hank didn't mean to hurt the kid, not at first. But the stupid blonde-haired punk didn't even bother to run away or beg for mercy. He just sat there behind the football field with his guitar on his lap, giving Hank that empty look like he was all by himself in the desert somewhere.
"Do what you're going to do." The other football types were on his back, shoving him. Hank wanted to show mercy but the kid wouldn't take mercy from him. K.C. had that look in his baby blue eyes, like he could see something far away. Hank ended up really busting him up, breaking his guitar and messing up his face till the guys pulled him off.
"Do what you're going to do." Hank Schrader wasn't a dope dealer. He wasn't a punk who jerked off into a Kleenex. He'd beat up plenty of punks in his time. But not one of them would have the guts to face what he was facing right now. Not one of them. What did K.C. even stand for? Kurt Cobain, that was it. Some little faggot rock star who shot himself. In the last second of his life, Hank Schrader finally got it.
And then his head exploded.