P U R E

IN WHICH EZEKIEL IS A DELINQUENT

"One pig built a house of straw while the second pig built his house with sticks. They built their houses very quickly and then sang and danced all day because they were lazy. The third little pig worked hard all day and built his house with bricks."

He scratched at the scabs of his knuckles, prying them off until small orbs of crimson began to replace them.

The scabs were ugly, he thought.

He liked the red better.

They looked like small rubies against the white of his skin; they made him think there was something magical holed up inside him.

Ezekiel, that's my name.

He felt he needed to remind himself sometimes so that even if he forgot who he was he might still remember what he was called.

He liked his name, he liked it dearly because it was the name his mother gave him, and if there was ever a God in his detached little world he was sure that she was it.

The only thing missing from his devotion was a personal shrine; he already sent her his prayers in tough times and asked her to guide him through the even worse.

Least he do this may a being as   p u r e   as her remember him in the heavens.

He missed his mother and he knew his attachment wasn't healthy, or at least that's what his therapist always told him.

She'd always call him things like; my only light, my little boy, my little angel, Zeke..

Zeke.

Zeke.

Zeke.

"Zeke."

Jerked out of his thoughts he frowned, staring at the face before him as he tried to make sense of the real world again.

"Zeke, Jesus. You can't keep zoning on me. We've only got a couple minutes to get this right, you zapping out like this is going to fuck us both over."

He squinted, a sign of his annoyance.

"Chill babe, I know what I'm doing."

His words were received with a scowl, his partner Chantel was never amused by his little more than platonic behaviour towards her.

Yet she kept her calm demeanour and continued to speak.

She has that kind of voice, Ezekiel thought, the kind of voice required to read poetry professionally.

"They're closing the store up soon. All the cash for the day is in, you got the gun?"

"Yeah."

"Loaded?"

Ezekiel paused, his eyes slipping down the barrel before they locked with Chantel's, her amber ones flickering in the headlights of passing cars.

"Zeke. Loaded or not?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Zeke, we don't need a repeat of last time. We're not trying to put anyone in hospital, okay?"

His eyes fell, growing silent the memories of the past grocery store incident began to pour in.

He never wanted to shoot that man, but he came up so suddenly, as if he himself was volatile and wished to put them both down right there.

He shot; he was scared so he shot him.

They fled the scene afterwards, local news of the incident confirmed that the wound wasn't fatal, and the man came out of hospital a short few weeks later. They couldn't identify the assaulters due to their full-faced animal masks and ambiguous attire, however they promised to do a full-search on their whereabouts. 

Right.

That was their first run, although instead of demotivating them it had just made them all the more wary of heroic citizens.

After all, if they stopped there then they might as well of just taken the last remaining round and offed themselves instead.