Their shouts. Their squealing shouts. Why do they always shout? I pull at the cuff of my suit shirt, once pressed and neatly laid over my chest, not wrinkled and dirty. I see the grimy traces of my fingers from pulling at my sleeves. I look like a mess. I am a mess, I correct myself. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6YhXlmomVH
I hear more shouts, I can't tell if they come from outside of the bank, or from the inside. Honestly, I don't care. I don't even know how I got myself into this situation. There are shouts of fear, anger, pleads for mercy, sometimes a mix of all, but not one screamed in understanding. None of them know the situation I'm in. I can clearly see the situation they are in, without shoes, lined against the counter base, ordered to not move; so why not take this leisure time to think of the situation I'm in? Don't they have any pity in their souls? 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzfNuDBO6zY
Another shout is heard and I scream at them to shut up again. I hold a gun, it's gripped in my right hand, clicking dauntingly against the counter in which I sat on. They stop shouting.
People are not born bad, we are not born thinking, "I truly want to be a horrible person." No, we are born with our own desires, thus we put our own desires first. We are born selfish, imperfect, but we are not born hopeless and evil. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRL6fdpY4MI
Their shouts are so selfish. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtscBOL6pfE
They are not thinking of the person sitting next to them, in the same situation as everyone else in this bank. No, they are thinking only about how they'll get themselves out alive. Unless they are with their child, or maybe family, I doubt they are thinking of others, only themselves. This world is so selfish. And to think they believe I'm the bad one. If anything, I'm teaching them a lesson. Perhaps I should see what they were to do if I shoot the seniors in the room. Would they fear for themselves, or get angry at my savagery. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡY4YlnoV3p7
The phone rings, probably the police again. The deal is I want ten million, and they get the 27 people that are inside this bank. Not including myself, that is. I pick up the phone and the voice is distorted through the line, but I make out the words. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2wbuVxy3k4
"We cannot pay you ten million, but we can't let you kill the citizens either. Please, James, just-"869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxELcgi5ili
I recoil at that name. How do they know my name? I said my name was John, to them, my name is not James. James is the name my mother gave me, not the name they know me by. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOCsuiQSyVh
"Don't call me James," I say, interrupting him. "And if I don't get the money, then no ones stepping out of this bank alive," I say. My voice is shaky, and I'm pretty sure my hands are sweating, but I'm not joking. The bomb under my shirt can't lie.869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSTM6gVrPOd
"Jam- John, please. Let's work another deal out..." 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDScsTlWiOK
No. Let's not. I don't want another deal. Ten million will last me my life. Like every other person in this world, I was born with my own desires put first. I hang up the phone, cutting the line without another word. So much for a vacation. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8UhH1K7f6e
I take in a deep breath. There are windows, all large and very visible. I know that they can shoot me with the snipers, so I wonder why they don't? It would surly solve the blood bath that is soon about to reek havoc. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8Oty45dwW6
I take the gun, whipping my free hand on my suit pants, and then the same with the opposite hand. Clearing my throat, I aim at the oldest man, he's probably in his late 70s, and shoot. More shouts and screams erupt from their throats. Just as I thought, they scream of fear, not of loss of love, of the old man. Fools, such fools they are. I unbutton my shirt, the strapped bomb on my chest in a tangled wire mesh. The red bottom is easy to spot, near the timer, so I position my first finger there. 869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkPwgxbrveV
Taking the gun again, I aim at the window above is, a large sunroof. It shines so brightly in this room, almost making this bank pleasant. If it were a different circumstance, I may have sat on a chair and read. However, I currently have a bomb strapped to my chest and a gun in my hand. I fire at the celling, the glass showering on them. I know the snipers will shoot, probably very soon, so I hurriedly press the button.
5 seconds.
5 seconds to think.869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxWcGPJlbHN
5 seconds to think about what I've done in life.
5 long seconds of regret.
Then nothing.869Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRIQjmhvDVc
