(no subject)
i changed the ending to the shootout
No time for thought, just action.
He walks over and kneels beside her, inspecting the cuts on her forearms.
The slits on her wrists aren’t deep enough to have caused any real damage but she’s lost enough blood to turn her skin pale.
“I’ve gotta stop the bleeding.”
He rummages through the bathroom drawers and beneath the sink he finds a tourniquet.
Taking the straight razor she used to cut herself open, he slices the tubing in two.
Quickly now, he wraps each tourniquet around her arm, tight. He uses the bathroom towels to clean up as much blood as possible. Her eyes slightly roll open as his fingers check the pulse on her neck.
It’s a slow running rhythm but it’s better than nothing.
Beautiful lips purse forward as she breathes in staccato breaths.
He grabs her from her underarms and throws her over his shoulders. Though she’s light, she’s deadweight and difficult to carry.
She breathes heavy resting on his shoulder and Martirio turns to exit the bathroom. He holds his breath with this angel on his shoulder, slowly approaching the stairs.
He peers over the stairs, looking down at Vegas and Bones still passed out in the living room.
Jaw shivering, eyes twitching, he begins to choke up in fear.
Like a little boy standing alone in a field, he feels helpless, hopeless.
He losses his numbness, and closing his eyes, his mind begins to drift.
Doubt, panic, guilt, all hit him like a ton of bricks.
Mary lets out a gasp and a groan, and Martirio snaps back to reality.
His eyes open as his hand reaches for the railing.
Step by step by cautious step, they descend down the stairs.
Quietly, they cross the boys passed out in the living room.
The door leading to the backyard looks a million miles away to Martirio who keeps his pace. The door is his salvation; everything will be over in just a few steps. Everything he had to go through today and the rest of his life will be over and done with if he can only reach the door.
Mary is still breathing softly, still holding on to life. Her blood trickles slightly down her forearms and down Martirio’s back.
Crossing the refrigerator, he begins to smile in relief.
“Stay with me, Mary. We’re almost out of here,” he whispers just beneath his breath.
And with those words comes the sound of a van door sliding open, the back doors popping ajar and footsteps in the driveway.
Vegas, his eyes open slightly, having been disturbed by the sound in the front-yard. Bones rolls over again, only half-awake to the world.
Then comes such a familiar sound, the cocking of a gun, the calm before the storm. And without a moment’s hesitation, the door blows open right off its hinges.
Martirio and Mary hit the deck in the kitchen.
Bones’ eyes pop open.
Vegas comes to life with a gasp.
Bullets pop the glass window next to the front door, hitting the walls, breaking picture frames, and obliterating stationery everywhere.
Bones rolls off the couch and pulls a gun, aiming out the front window. He fires three shots before taking another. Vegas tries to run to the kitchen but gets mowed down by handgun fire bursting through the front door. His blood shoots out his chest and lands a few feet in front of him. As he’s falling, a bullet enters and exits through his throat, and so ends his life.
Martirio looks back to see Vegas’ lifeless eyes staring straight at him, as Bones continues firing at the front of the house.
Then, the back door swings open to the kitchen and there’s a man in a ski mask aiming a handgun at Bones. As he begins firing, his own men shooting through the front of the house knock him over with a handful of bullets. His blood spills on Martirio and Mary.
A few of his shots go off, sailing past Bones’ head who turns to see Martirio and Mary on the kitchen floor.
Martirio crawls over and begins dragging Mary out the backyard, neglecting the man’s handgun as he exits the house.
As he kicks the door shut, he can hear Bones screaming his name in between the shots.
“MARTIRIO!”
Martirio continues out the back and rests himself on the back of house, still dragging Mary.
As the gunfire continues, he holds Mary close to him. The loud banging popping off causes Martirio to shake and shiver with each shot, Mary still a silent child lies dormant in his arms.
The sunlight announces its arrival in a whisper quietly across the horizon. Light shades of blue and purple begin tonguing their way at the sky. The moon still hangs high, awaiting the sun to come relieve it of it’s post above the gunfight below.
Bones continues screaming Martirio’s name, when suddenly the gunshots stop and Martirio’s eyebrows ruffle up in the middle of his forehead. He’s still too hesitant to move.
Meanwhile inside the house, Bones lies wounded on the floor with the Devil standing directly above him. The Devil takes his shoe and places it on Bones’ throat who struggles for air. Removing his mask, the Devil stares straight at Bones and smiles. Buried deep within Bones’ eyes is that look of fearful recognition, like he’s seen this face before. They stare into each other’s souls with eyes mirroring each other’s opposite reflection. One face calm and cool, the other face choked with fear.
The Devil’s finger with a musician’s touch plays Bones’ death note as the trigger squeeze silences his life. Tiny streams of crimson roll down Bones’ forehead and the Devil readjusts his face.
Outside, Martirio’s wondering what’s going on, why everything has gone dead quiet. He stands slow and begins dragging Mary to the side of the house. He’s pulling her with his back to the front of the house when he hears the sound of footsteps on gravel. Turning quick, he sees a pair of blue eyes staring at him through a ski mask. The eyes focus on him as a steady hand raises a gun aimed right between Martirio’s eyes.
The sound of Martirio’s own breath echoes in his head, his pulse pounds so loud he feels it shaking his bones.
“Let’s go,” a voice arises from behind the blue eyes. It’s the devil with his hand still wrapped tight around his gun.
“No, not yet,” the voice in front of him says.
“I’ll give you to the count of 1,” replies the Devil.
And the whole world stops spinning on its axis.
All three men still standing take one last breath before two shots ring out.
The first bullet enters the back of the head of the man with blue eyes, first cracking the back of the skull then severing the connection between the brain stem and the brain. This causes the nervous system to become obsolete as his legs forget their purpose. The bullet continues traveling through his brain, unraveling and unweaving all the synapses and inner workings of his gray matter.
The second shot emerges from the gun in front of those blue eyes, as his hand jolts away due to the gunshot to his cranium. The bullet no longer aimed directly at Martirio’s head veers off target and tears a piece of flesh out of Martirio’s shoulder. As if expecting worse, Martirio doesn’t even flinch. The bullet takes a part of him with it as it buries itself into a wall in the backyard.
The Devil then raises his gun again and points it at Martirio and holds it there for a moment.
Loud like the trumpets of the apocalypse, the van’s car horn blares in the driveway.
“Bang,” says the Devil, before dropping his gun on the gravel. He laughs deep as he turns to walk away.
Martirio’s a zombie dragging Mary to the front yard, before dropping her softly on the gravel.
The van reverses out the driveway, before honking twice.
Before the van pulls away, the Devil nods his head at Martirio and the tires screech, pulling the van forward and off into the sunlight breaking on the horizon.
And here stands Martirio, lost between two worlds. He’s an empty soul trapped between reality and fiction. It’s as if he can’t accept that everything has actually happened, even the pain doesn’t exist. He waits for something, anything to move him.
The sunlight catches his eye and like a machine he continues with his job, slinging Mary over his unwounded shoulder. He then begins walking down the street. Here and now, his eyes blur with tears from something he can’t feel. He walks on feet that no longer belong to him, standing above creaking knees that ache for someone else but him. Continuing to the end of the street he is aware of absolutely nothing.
Even oblivious to the sound of a car horn blaring at him.
Unaware of the voice shouting at him.
Unfazed by Johnny’s voice screaming at him, right in his face.
He looks up at Johnny as if he’s a total stranger. Even at the top of his lungs, Martirio can’t hear a word Johnny’s screaming.
He must have walked two blocks with Mary on his shoulder like this. Two blocks without even thinking. Even there had been police sirens, he wouldn’t have heard them.
“What the fuck just happened?” Johnny’s screaming right in to Martirio’s face.
Martirio looks over at Johnny and drops Mary, this time not paying attention to how he does so. She lands hard in some neighborhood front yard. Her head lays on the grass.
“I don’t know,” replies Martirio in a daze.
“You’ve got blood all over you, man. Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck happened to you?” Johnny continues.
“I came for Mary, I couldn’t leave her there to die,” Martirio says becoming somewhat aware of the world around him.
“Fuck that man, we need to get you to a hospital,” Johnny says, no longer a voice of anger and disbelief but of panic and fear.
“I’m not going anywhere without her,” his voice soft and short, Martirio replies with a blank face.
“She’ll be alright, you’re the one soaked in blood. You do know that your shoulder’s got a piece missing out of it, don’t you?” says Johnny, as if trying to be the voice of reason.
“Forget about me, I’m not letting her die,” and as Martirio says those words, Mary wakes on the floor. Her breath coming through in short wheezing gasps, her eyes crack open.
No time for thought, just action.
He walks over and kneels beside her, inspecting the cuts on her forearms.
The slits on her wrists aren’t deep enough to have caused any real damage but she’s lost enough blood to turn her skin pale.
“I’ve gotta stop the bleeding.”
He rummages through the bathroom drawers and beneath the sink he finds a tourniquet.
Taking the straight razor she used to cut herself open, he slices the tubing in two.
Quickly now, he wraps each tourniquet around her arm, tight. He uses the bathroom towels to clean up as much blood as possible. Her eyes slightly roll open as his fingers check the pulse on her neck.
It’s a slow running rhythm but it’s better than nothing.
Beautiful lips purse forward as she breathes in staccato breaths.
He grabs her from her underarms and throws her over his shoulders. Though she’s light, she’s deadweight and difficult to carry.
She breathes heavy resting on his shoulder and Martirio turns to exit the bathroom. He holds his breath with this angel on his shoulder, slowly approaching the stairs.
He peers over the stairs, looking down at Vegas and Bones still passed out in the living room.
Jaw shivering, eyes twitching, he begins to choke up in fear.
Like a little boy standing alone in a field, he feels helpless, hopeless.
He losses his numbness, and closing his eyes, his mind begins to drift.
Doubt, panic, guilt, all hit him like a ton of bricks.
Mary lets out a gasp and a groan, and Martirio snaps back to reality.
His eyes open as his hand reaches for the railing.
Step by step by cautious step, they descend down the stairs.
Quietly, they cross the boys passed out in the living room.
The door leading to the backyard looks a million miles away to Martirio who keeps his pace. The door is his salvation; everything will be over in just a few steps. Everything he had to go through today and the rest of his life will be over and done with if he can only reach the door.
Mary is still breathing softly, still holding on to life. Her blood trickles slightly down her forearms and down Martirio’s back.
Crossing the refrigerator, he begins to smile in relief.
“Stay with me, Mary. We’re almost out of here,” he whispers just beneath his breath.
And with those words comes the sound of a van door sliding open, the back doors popping ajar and footsteps in the driveway.
Vegas, his eyes open slightly, having been disturbed by the sound in the front-yard. Bones rolls over again, only half-awake to the world.
Then comes such a familiar sound, the cocking of a gun, the calm before the storm. And without a moment’s hesitation, the door blows open right off its hinges.
Martirio and Mary hit the deck in the kitchen.
Bones’ eyes pop open.
Vegas comes to life with a gasp.
Bullets pop the glass window next to the front door, hitting the walls, breaking picture frames, and obliterating stationery everywhere.
Bones rolls off the couch and pulls a gun, aiming out the front window. He fires three shots before taking another. Vegas tries to run to the kitchen but gets mowed down by handgun fire bursting through the front door. His blood shoots out his chest and lands a few feet in front of him. As he’s falling, a bullet enters and exits through his throat, and so ends his life.
Martirio looks back to see Vegas’ lifeless eyes staring straight at him, as Bones continues firing at the front of the house.
Then, the back door swings open to the kitchen and there’s a man in a ski mask aiming a handgun at Bones. As he begins firing, his own men shooting through the front of the house knock him over with a handful of bullets. His blood spills on Martirio and Mary.
A few of his shots go off, sailing past Bones’ head who turns to see Martirio and Mary on the kitchen floor.
Martirio crawls over and begins dragging Mary out the backyard, neglecting the man’s handgun as he exits the house.
As he kicks the door shut, he can hear Bones screaming his name in between the shots.
“MARTIRIO!”
Martirio continues out the back and rests himself on the back of house, still dragging Mary.
As the gunfire continues, he holds Mary close to him. The loud banging popping off causes Martirio to shake and shiver with each shot, Mary still a silent child lies dormant in his arms.
The sunlight announces its arrival in a whisper quietly across the horizon. Light shades of blue and purple begin tonguing their way at the sky. The moon still hangs high, awaiting the sun to come relieve it of it’s post above the gunfight below.
Bones continues screaming Martirio’s name, when suddenly the gunshots stop and Martirio’s eyebrows ruffle up in the middle of his forehead. He’s still too hesitant to move.
Meanwhile inside the house, Bones lies wounded on the floor with the Devil standing directly above him. The Devil takes his shoe and places it on Bones’ throat who struggles for air. Removing his mask, the Devil stares straight at Bones and smiles. Buried deep within Bones’ eyes is that look of fearful recognition, like he’s seen this face before. They stare into each other’s souls with eyes mirroring each other’s opposite reflection. One face calm and cool, the other face choked with fear.
The Devil’s finger with a musician’s touch plays Bones’ death note as the trigger squeeze silences his life. Tiny streams of crimson roll down Bones’ forehead and the Devil readjusts his face.
Outside, Martirio’s wondering what’s going on, why everything has gone dead quiet. He stands slow and begins dragging Mary to the side of the house. He’s pulling her with his back to the front of the house when he hears the sound of footsteps on gravel. Turning quick, he sees a pair of blue eyes staring at him through a ski mask. The eyes focus on him as a steady hand raises a gun aimed right between Martirio’s eyes.
The sound of Martirio’s own breath echoes in his head, his pulse pounds so loud he feels it shaking his bones.
“Let’s go,” a voice arises from behind the blue eyes. It’s the devil with his hand still wrapped tight around his gun.
“No, not yet,” the voice in front of him says.
“I’ll give you to the count of 1,” replies the Devil.
And the whole world stops spinning on its axis.
All three men still standing take one last breath before two shots ring out.
The first bullet enters the back of the head of the man with blue eyes, first cracking the back of the skull then severing the connection between the brain stem and the brain. This causes the nervous system to become obsolete as his legs forget their purpose. The bullet continues traveling through his brain, unraveling and unweaving all the synapses and inner workings of his gray matter.
The second shot emerges from the gun in front of those blue eyes, as his hand jolts away due to the gunshot to his cranium. The bullet no longer aimed directly at Martirio’s head veers off target and tears a piece of flesh out of Martirio’s shoulder. As if expecting worse, Martirio doesn’t even flinch. The bullet takes a part of him with it as it buries itself into a wall in the backyard.
The Devil then raises his gun again and points it at Martirio and holds it there for a moment.
Loud like the trumpets of the apocalypse, the van’s car horn blares in the driveway.
“Bang,” says the Devil, before dropping his gun on the gravel. He laughs deep as he turns to walk away.
Martirio’s a zombie dragging Mary to the front yard, before dropping her softly on the gravel.
The van reverses out the driveway, before honking twice.
Before the van pulls away, the Devil nods his head at Martirio and the tires screech, pulling the van forward and off into the sunlight breaking on the horizon.
And here stands Martirio, lost between two worlds. He’s an empty soul trapped between reality and fiction. It’s as if he can’t accept that everything has actually happened, even the pain doesn’t exist. He waits for something, anything to move him.
The sunlight catches his eye and like a machine he continues with his job, slinging Mary over his unwounded shoulder. He then begins walking down the street. Here and now, his eyes blur with tears from something he can’t feel. He walks on feet that no longer belong to him, standing above creaking knees that ache for someone else but him. Continuing to the end of the street he is aware of absolutely nothing.
Even oblivious to the sound of a car horn blaring at him.
Unaware of the voice shouting at him.
Unfazed by Johnny’s voice screaming at him, right in his face.
He looks up at Johnny as if he’s a total stranger. Even at the top of his lungs, Martirio can’t hear a word Johnny’s screaming.
He must have walked two blocks with Mary on his shoulder like this. Two blocks without even thinking. Even there had been police sirens, he wouldn’t have heard them.
“What the fuck just happened?” Johnny’s screaming right in to Martirio’s face.
Martirio looks over at Johnny and drops Mary, this time not paying attention to how he does so. She lands hard in some neighborhood front yard. Her head lays on the grass.
“I don’t know,” replies Martirio in a daze.
“You’ve got blood all over you, man. Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck happened to you?” Johnny continues.
“I came for Mary, I couldn’t leave her there to die,” Martirio says becoming somewhat aware of the world around him.
“Fuck that man, we need to get you to a hospital,” Johnny says, no longer a voice of anger and disbelief but of panic and fear.
“I’m not going anywhere without her,” his voice soft and short, Martirio replies with a blank face.
“She’ll be alright, you’re the one soaked in blood. You do know that your shoulder’s got a piece missing out of it, don’t you?” says Johnny, as if trying to be the voice of reason.
“Forget about me, I’m not letting her die,” and as Martirio says those words, Mary wakes on the floor. Her breath coming through in short wheezing gasps, her eyes crack open.