Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(0 votes)

You must login to vote


The plane was simple. Walk in; point the gun at the cashier. Let everybody else in the store out. Get the cops to come and “bust” me at a “real” crime. Then, pull the trigger and watch the show. I love the theater and I love the sight of fear. Doing this will give me both theater and the sight of other peoples fear.

I walked through the sliding doors into the local U.D.F. I walked around, like your everyday customer would, casually walking up to the cashier, putting on one of my most innocent, toothy grins. Strange how those innocent grins can trick people into thinking you really are innocent.

The cashier at the front counter also smiles at me, but it’s more of an ‘I hate my life and I hate my job; I’m bored’ kind of smile. “Can I help you with anything?” He says in a bored tone. I pull out the gun.

“Everybody out! This is no joke people. Out!” I shout as I’m pointing the gun at the cashiers’ head. Five people ran out the sliding doors and into the parking lot. Some even trying to drive their cars in the havoc filled area. At my position I could see one man, who probably thought he could play the “hero” in my show, get on a pay phone in the lot and dial rapidly. Yah, like that’s not what I want.

“Ok, now listen up bag boy,” The cashier gulped and put his hands high up into the air. I had to smile; this was one of my best performance yet. I thought as I grinned my “innocent” grin.

“Ok, just sit tight and as soon as the cops get here I’ll leave and you can go back to your boring life. Ok?” I said and studied the cashiers face. Sweat pored out of the cashiers face. Poor guy. Oh well, not my fault. Ten minutes later, the cops showed up. They start screaming at me through a megaphone at what it seemed full power. They fist start asking if everyone was “ok”. Geez. And these are our great law keepers. All they do is eat donuts and drink coffee. (So I have been told.)

“Come out with your hands in the air and let the hostage go and no one will get hurt.” The police say through the intense megaphone. Duh. And these people catch big time serial killers. I don’t think so.

“Ok bag-e- boy,” I jerk the gun in front of the cashiers face. The cashier was shaking like a maraca. Poor guy, I can see his parents spending many a pretty penny on his therapy. If he isn’t already in therapy that is.

“Just open the cash register, pull out eighty bucks, put it on the counter, and we’ll go outside and visit our little friends in blue. Ok?” The poor guys like a little kid in a haunted house, so scared he might pee his pants. He opens the cash register, pulls out the money and shakily slides it over to me across the counter. Just to mess with the guy, even though he’s probably going to need major therapy as it is, I wink and make a bang sound, like I’ve already shot the gun. The poor guy flinches and I can see more sweat mixed with tears roll down his face. I am such a pain.

“Common flinch-e. It’s time for the grand finale.” I say as I again jerk the gun at him. I wonder if he’ll be bored after work? I’m sure he isn’t bored at work right now. I wonder if he’s praying in his head right now. Probably, by the look on his face.

“Com out with your hands in the air! You are surrounded. Give up now or we will be forced to shoot you out!” the cops shout yet again through the megaphone. Well duh. I know that. No wonder people get away with major crimes. The cops suck. I stuff the bills into my side pocket.

“ Alright flinch-e, time to make our star aperients.” I say as I again, causing this poor kid more grief, jerk the gun in front of his already shaking face. The shaky cashier slowly walks around the counter and in front of me.

“Don’t shoot me. Pleas.” Now how can you pass up that sorrow filled plea for life? The guy asks not to be shot in a ‘fearing for my life’ type of meaning. My god, you’d think I was holding a gun to his head or something.

“Just move it. Or, you’ll loose it. Go on.” I say in a mimicking tone of boredom. We walk outside, and as I approach the transparent sliding doors, I can see that, after the police say they hade the area surrounded, all that’s there is a neat line of police cars and guns.

“Put the gun down and step away from the civilian.” Some chubby cop shouts through the mega phone. Please. Don’t make me laugh. I stick the gun into the cashiers’ ear. He whines and starts weeping like a scared little kid.

“Put the gun down!” another order coming through the megaphone directed at me. What’s the bid hurry, anyway? It’s not like this is a life or death situation or anything. Right?

“And now ladies and gentlemen,” I say as I pose for my big debut.

“I give you,” I shout over all the whispering gunmen and their walky-talkies. I pull the trigger. The cashier falls to the dirty, cemented parking lot, revealing a small but noticeable puddle, and stain all around his pants legs, of urine. The small puddle then begins to flow towards me but then U terns back to the cashier, revealing that the parking lot is down hill.

“Gochya!” I shout as I squirt the “gun” in the direction of the police and their guns. Cops, shish. They’ll believe anything. The police catch up with me, take me down, and cuff me. Placing me into their squad car I grin. My innocent grin. The grin that played a part in my play.

So by now you have probably guessed where I am at the moment. Well think again! I am now on my way to Costa Rica, because, I am told, that the locals there are just as frantic and fearful of crime. And there I will commit my next brilliant performance for my “dieing” public. But, my next prank, the cops will just have to wait and see when I’ll strike next. And, until I strike up another heart wrenching, spine tingling, performance, the people that I have touched so closely, the cashier, the customers at the U.D.F., and the police, will always remember my toothy, “innocent”, grin. The grin that put on such a remembered performance and scared the pee right out of them. (Quite literally.)



Related Items


The following comments are for "prank #1 the gun"
by ftmthasme

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.