One shots

Scene 7

Chris began to wonder the wisdom of this trip. He pressed his back to the plain white wall behind him.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" An angry Russian voice came from the other side of a closed closet door followed by a sharp slapping sound. Chris ran a frustrated hand through his short blond hair as he realized the mistake that he'd made. He tried to control his breathing and his bladder as he struggled to maintain an aura of calm.

"What the hell was I thinking I was doing?" He mouthed soundlessly. He slumped down to the ground as he listened to the interrogation happening in the other room. Stupid college prank gone wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Chris glanced around the small closet he was using as a hiding place. It was an ordinary closet, coats, shoes, etceteria. Not what you would think to find in the closet of a well known Russian mafia don.

A well known mafia don. Chris ran his hand through his hair again, his eyes growing wide as he again realized the gravity of his situation. Well known, mafia don. Chris frantically pulled out his iPhone 5 as quickly and quietly as he could and sent a text message to his friends standing outside. "Call 911. Mafia don. Holy skdpwbairjdosberj!!!!!!1640.!/):@:9!/)1$2&4" he typed out before hitting send. He grabbed at his chest as he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. He smirked at the sudden randomness of his text completely forgetting that the reason for the randomness was that a loud gunshot had erupted from the room. Chris double checked that his phone was on vibrate only, suddenly paranoid that the dangerous men in the main room would find him and do the same to him as they did to the person that was just in there. Someone didn't do what was apparently was asked of them and now they wouldn't be returning to their family. If they had a family. While quietly mourning the death of the random stranger in the other room, he mentally prepared himself for the circumstance that he would possibly be found.

“HAHAHA! You’re funny. Hurry up and get out here, we’ll be late for practice.” the reply read. Chris dropped his head as he realized that his friends weren’t going to be helping him any time soon.

This is what I get for being a football player. He thought to himself. Chris took a deep breath before he stood up in the dark closet.

What am I doing?! He turned the knob silently and pushed the closet door open. In the middle of the room sat the frighteningly tall, terrifyingly blond, and horrifically muscled mafia don. Oh shit. I’m dead. He saluted the imposing man silently before moving quickly from the room, purposefully ignoring the dead body of a brown haired man surrounded in a pool of blood.

And WHY did I salute? I’m such a dumbass. Two equally imposing men followed Chris out and dragged him on heels back into the room. They sat him in a clean leather chair in front of the don.

“Would you like anything to drink?” The don asked politely to the young football player in front of him. Chris blacked out, fear had overtaken his senses and he was no longer able to function.

“Was it something I said?” The don asked in confusion to the two henchmen who caught Chris before he hit the floor.