sunday, november 22nd, 2008
throwing the keys to my apartment, which ironically landed on my microwave, i slump down into my sofa.
"luke. i know you love your mother and everything. we can't give her that money."
"we can get some more. look, it took us eight months to get ten grand. that could mean eight more months that my mum could live."
"no, you're fucking crazy! i worked for this too."
"holding a gun up to someone's head isn't a profession, asshole." luke mutters.
"did you think i meant for things to end up this way? i'm a fucking loser, just as much as you. i'm broke, legally at least, i'm living on my own at nineteen, traumatizing the public and anyone that comes near me. i'm a fucking burnout, do you understand that this is the only choice i have?"
he shuts up, as i flick on my television, avoiding any local channels as possible. deciding on a documentary on the first world war, to break the silence at least. it was deafening.
after minutes, that seemed as years, luke points to the screen. "hey, look at this guy. alvin york, i think his name was. american hero. he escaped heavy fire and started picking off german enemy in secret. i read about him in the eighth grade. pretty cool, huh?"
"yeah," i sigh, "look. i'm sorry. i'm a selfish bastard but i really need the money."
as he stands up, and heads towards my back closet, he signals for me to stand up, and throws me my duffel bag. i know exactly where he's going with this.
"let's go get some, then."
YOU ARE READING
stockholm syndrome
Fanfictionmichael clifford runs with his identity and erases all possible tracks of his presence in his delinquent crimes with his accomplice, lucas. little do they know, they have left some prints behind. copyright 2014, all rights reserved x (capitalizatio...
