My Original Works

Money

Just take the money and run.

Just take it and go!

His body was frozen to the tiled floors of the bank, his breathing harsh and ragged as his head swarmed through the thoughts of what would happen to him. The bomb was set off far before it was intended to, destroying everything in the vicinity and blowing him back onto the floor with enough force to break something inside him. His shaking hands tried numerous times to lift him up and off of the floor before the authorities arrived and sent him away for life, but no matter how hard he tried he always dropped weakly back onto the ground.

Had she escaped?

The love of his life, his partner in crime, the one he claimed as his own and threatened anyone that dared to challenge him. Was she able to make it out in time to flee to safety?

Just take the money and run.

In this profession, it's almost a rule that you aren't allowed to let your feelings get the best of you; that you aren't supposed to feel anything other than the adrenaline that keeps you moving forward all the way to the bank account. When you become a criminal, you aren't supposed to care for the wellbeing of another just in case that other is the one that you have to put down in your backyard for snitching and warning the police.

"You don't care for her", he told himself, "she was just another pawn for you to use in this game we play."

Then why was he concerned?

Maybe because he was dying? His breathing was fast and the world around him was shifting faster than it ever had before as everything around him was fading into a black that he knew he couldn't escape.

Maybe it was the "I love you".

Maybe it was the money.