G is for Gun in hand
"What, what was so bad?
What had he done, to make you return, this time with a gun?
Intimidation, growing bigger
What the hell made you pull the trigger?
Thought, thought this all through
Thought it might be fun, shot in the head, to show everyone…"
Author's note: This fic is violent and quite graphic towards the end. Please be cautious when reading - some scenes may be disturbing to readers.
There's blood pooling at my feet, I thought numbly as the thick red liquid began to stain the white rubber soles of my sneakers. The metal of the gun in my hand felt warm against my flesh; the section of skin between my index finger and thumb throbbed from slide-bite due to my inexperience with the weapon. Suddenly my cell phone buzzed in my pocket, and with my free hand I withdrew it out of reflex.
12/15/2010 – 2:13 am
From: Clyde D.
Where the hell are you?
I realized that I probably should have made some excuse with my roommate for where I was going to be, but he was supposed to be out for the night, and I certainly didn't think he was going to check up on me like my fucking mother or something. I hesitated a moment, staring at the screen, then deleted the message and put my phone away. With careful, steady movements, I bent down and untied my shoes, then slowly stepped out of them.
"Craig Tucker, what on earth have you done this time?" My high school principal's high-pitched voice rang in my ears as she bounded across the property to where I stood, looking down at the limp and potentially unconscious body of Stan Marsh. As Mrs. MacLennan lugged her enormous weight up beside me, panting and red in the face, I shrugged and turned to leave. Her chubby hand grabbed my shoulder.
"Explain yourself right now, or I'm calling the police," Anger flared in her tone as she spoke, but it didn't faze me. "Tell me what happened. Now." I looked at her, totally expressionless, my ice blue eyes boring straight into hers.
"It's a long story."
It was a long story. The conflict between Marsh and I dated back to elementary school, but as we aged, our problems only grew worse. And the problem with fighting fire with fire… is you just get a really big fire. Not that I would have it any other way.
I fidgeted with the safety on the gun to keep my hands busy, feeling that I had caused enough destruction for the time being. As I contemplated admiring what I had done or just leaving the scene, my cell buzzed again – definitely Clyde. I rolled my eyes for no one in particular and pulled my phone out.
12/15/2010 – 2:25 am
From: Clyde D.
Seriously, where the fuck are you? I know you're not at home, I checked your room.
I heaved a heavy sigh. Clyde was usually good for not bothering me, which made him the only person I could ever stand to live with. If I didn't need the second income to pay the rent, I'd definitely have been living alone by now. My thumb hovered over the 'delete' button, but I changed my mind and decided I'd give him a sarcastic reply instead. It would piss him off.
12/15/2010 – 2:26 am
To: Clyde D.
I thought I told you to stay out of my room.
I let a corner of my mouth turn up in victory – it would annoy him that I was responding, but not at all answering the question he was asking. Feeling good about how things were going, I wandered back to the sight of my victim's body, lifeless on the floor, narrowly avoiding the ever-growing puddle of blood seeping out from under him. It seemed that no one ever really had a full appreciation for how much blood was in the human body until it was pouring out of a hole in their head and all over the floor of their apartment. I tried to remember the exact number of pints an average male held, but the memories from my previous year's biology class eluded me. Other memories; however, did not.
"Fuck you, Craig!"
"Real original, Marsh," I never raised my voice when I was angry – I found it to be déclassé. "And don't get it in your head that this is all my fault. You're just as much to blame as anyone else."
He bared his teeth. "Liar."
"Excuse me?" I had turned away from him, prepared to leave before another fight broke out, but no one – not even Stan Marsh, everybody's favorite golden boy – called me a liar.
"I said you're a liar! You know this is entirely your fault!" I watched as he widened his stance, and knew we were only moments away from brawling on my front yard. Discreetly, I checked my surroundings: in case he tackled me, or threw me, I wanted to make sure I would be clear of any obstacles. That was the only problem with fighting Stan – he had filled out, broad shoulders, broad chest, the build of an athlete. Me, I had stayed lean, and my poor eating habits didn't help my already below-average weight. Since I noticed nothing that could seriously hurt me, I continued my calm and collected explanation.
"Look, fuckface," I watched his face turn red and fought back a smile. "If you want to pretend you're innocent, I couldn't give a shit. But don't you dare call me a liar."
"That's it! You're dead, Craig!"
Ironic, I thought as I stared down at his face, forever destroyed by the hole in his forehead. Pretty boy Stan Marsh would now be forced to have a closed-casket funeral. Or at least, I assumed that's what his family would choose. I had shot him from the doorway, across the entire apartment, so the bullet hadn't blown his face apart. Rather, it had entered a few inches above the bridge of his nose, causing the front of his skull to shatter at the point of impact. I'm sure the back of his head was worse, where the bullet had exited, as I could see a few fragments of bone on the floor, but I didn't feel like turning the body over to examine it. Suddenly, I felt a buzzing from my pocket. Damn it Clyde, just go to bed already!
12/15/2010 – 2:48 am
From: Clyde D.
Damn it Craig, I'm too drunk to deal with this
12/15/2010 – 2:49 am
To: Clyde D.
Deal with what?
I waited impatiently for Clyde's response. Something about the situation felt… off. I didn't like being in the dark, and I tapped the gun against my leg in anxiety, holding my phone in front of me with the other hand. When a few minutes went by and he still hadn't replied, I could feel my stomach tightening more and more by the second. Finally, the screen on the front of my phone lit up with a new message.
12/15/2010 – 2:52 am
From: Clyde D.
Problem
The color immediately drained from my face at his message. Before I had a chance to respond, however, I was distracted by a noise. As I tried to listen more closely, I realized it sounded like a microwave going off, and that it was coming from Stan's body. I moved closer to the sound, finally discovering its creator. It was Marsh's cell phone, showing four missed messages.
As Stan's fist connected with my sternum, I stumbled back a few steps and felt my feet skid on the asphalt of our high school's parking lot. He rushed at me and I barely stepped out of the way, still wheezing from his punch.
"This is for fucking my girlfriend!" He swung wildly in his rage and completely missed me, and I took the opportunity to catch his chin with my elbow. It seemed almost like he hadn't felt it, and came back around with another crazy punch. I did my best to dodge but his knuckles glanced off my cheek.
"That's for fucking Kyle's girlfriend!" Another few attempts missed me as I skillfully evaded his strikes. Half the time I could have sworn my only saving grace was my light weight – it made me so much faster than him that we were pretty much an even match. I, however, fought to end the fight as quickly as possible. At my first opening I brought my knee up right into his stomach, which caused him to instantly double over and fall to his hands and knees. I took this opportunity to swiftly kick him in the side of the head, and he was face-down on the ground in mere moments.
All I could hear was my heart thumping in my ears as I flipped Stan's phone open to check the texts. They were all from within the last hour or so – or in other words, since my arrival at the apartment.
12/15/2010 – 1:45 am
From: Kyle B.
Just saw on the news gunshots were heard in your apartment. You awake?
12/15/2010 – 1:54 am
From: Wendy 3
Kyle just told me there were gunshots from your apartment. Please call back ASAP! Love you 3
12/15/2010 – 2:03 am
From: Wendy 3
Stan, please call me. I need to know you're okay
12/15/2010 – 2:05 am
From: Wendy 3
Kyle is picking me up. We're coming over
I glanced at my watch. It read 3:01 am. That was nearly an hour ago, I realized, and then something hit me harder than Stan ever had. Obviously someone would have heard the gunshots, but I had been so distracted by my final victory that I had planned to take care of all the other evidence, but hadn't taken sound into account. Stupid, stupid. My phone buzzed again.
12/15/2010 – 3:02 am
From: Clyde D.
Something going down at Stan's place
12/15/2010 – 3:02 am
From: Clyde D.
Brof called me looking for you; said police are investigating the building, no one's going in or out
Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
"Dude, it was an accident!" Stan stammered as I pushed through the doorway, gun gripped tightly in my extended hand. He continued to back away from me as I shut the door behind me and locked it. I noticed him heading for the cover of the bedroom, and cocked the pistol abruptly. He stopped.
"Don't move," I smiled blandly. "It's really not in your best interest."
"I didn't mean to hit him, Craig, it wasn't like I did it on purpose," His voice was a little steadier now, but I didn't buy that he was any more confident about the outcome of this fight.
"Accident or not, you fucked him up."
"I'm sorry!"
"Too little," I pulled the trigger once, but my aim was off and it whizzed by his head. "Too late."
"Shit dude, you're going to kill me over this?"
"It's been a long time coming, trust me," I took a step forward and cocked the gun again. "And yes, I do happen to think what you did is worth death."
"It was a mistake! I was stupid; I shouldn't have thought I could…"
"Shut up, Marsh," I fired again, but missed.
"Craig, Craig listen to me," He pleaded, and I noticed a dark spot growing around the crotch of his jeans. "We're only eighteen. You are way too young to go to jail, and I am way too young to die. We've done a lot of stupid shit in the past but can we please, please just start over?"
"Permission denied," I cocked the gun and fired in one fluid motion. This one hit him square between the eyes and I was sure he was dead before he hit the ground.
Suddenly I could hear footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment door, and loud voices. There was definitely no talking my way out of this one. I reaffirmed that I had only used three rounds of my dad's 9mm, and briefly considered my options. The answer I came to made me smile, in some sick way, because I knew that if I was going to come to this, at least I would have the final say.
The metal of the gun finally felt cool against my temple as I held it there, waiting for the police to come knocking on Stan's door. With my free hand, I pulled out my phone and decided that I should at least put my best friend's mind at ease.
12/15/2010 – 3:13 am
To: Clyde D.
Don't spend a lifetime trying to understand.
Author's note: I do not own any part of Stutterfly or their songs/material.
