Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
this is the second thing i ever wrote. I don'r claim that they are good or original
The Thief
By Michael Youngberg
This is not a happy little tale; no story is if it’s told long enough. There is no happily ever after. Everything I tell you here is true, but who really gives a shit anyway right.
My name is Johnny boy, or at least that’s what all my friends call me. I am a thief, not a crook. I want to make that perfectly clear from the get go. Thieves steal so they can live the life that all us who are smarter than the system deserve to live. Crooks do it to define their lives, they are their last job. Fuck them. I AM A THEIF, not in the
I’m gonna do this.
“So we’re really gonna do this,” I ask.
“Yeah dude, all you’ve got to do is go up to the clerk, tell him you’ve got a gun, and tell him you want all the money in the register. Forget about the safe, it’s just a ploy to get you to wait until the police arrive. ONLY TAKE THE MONEY OUT OF THE REGISTER.”
Simple
Easy
“Okay here I go,” I say hoping I sound more confident than I feel.
I checked the parking lot for cops and there were none there. I’m not getting a spot on ‘World’s Dumbest Criminals’.
I walk slowly up to the cashier, still on track. Give me all of your money. I have a gun.
Calm
Cool.
Then the cashier does the unexpected, he asks, voice cracking, “Let me see your gun.”
So I pull it out, it’s a cap gun, painted black. Luckily he was no NRA member. The smell of fresh urine starts to fill the room. His pants are getting dark; his hands shake as he gives me the money, I can taste his shame. I tell the Pussy to put his hands behind his head and kneel down.
Just as planned.
I put the cap gun to the base of his skull and tell him to never give my description to the Police. I tell him to trigger the alarm as soon as he can count to 1,000. I tell him the next customer into the store works for me, and he will be watching, and listening to his every word
Do not fuck up.
If you fuck up, you’re dead.
He has no questions for me. Amazing how a gun can make everything so clear.
I’d gone into this store almost every week for the last month, and picked up the same drink, same shitty microwave burrito, and used the same damn lotto numbers every time, he always needed to hear them like five times. Always rang up the burrito more than once and yet now, with his useless little pathetic existence on the line, the man was almost a functioning person.
Amazing
This rat-hole reeks of the poor bastard’s urine now. He starts counting, and I walk out of the store covering my nose to keep from gagging on the fear and piss smell. We make off with about $3,000 in cash. I’ve done it; I just made $3,000 for about five minutes of work.
Simple
Easy
* * *
After my first taste, I’m hopelessly addicted. I’d never work at McDonald’s again. I’ve found a way to make thousands in mere minutes. I was still in High School at this point, but who needs that when you’ve got it made in the shade for the rest of your life. I drop out. I don’t think my Mom even noticed. It’s not her fault; she’s way too busy working three jobs to support the family my bastard father left her with. Dad left us years before, had to run off and start a new family in a
My four brothers and I were all told to make successes out of ourselves. To finish school, get a good job, and support a family. I was the oldest, so all that pressure went to me first. I dealt with it, and even did well with it until I realized that I could make a lot of money now with my new ‘career’. I started bringing home a good portion of my money and Mom never really asked me any questions. She didn’t want to know, and I guess I really didn’t want to tell her either; all she cared about was that we could finally afford all we needed.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no Robin Hood. I kept most of it for myself and the stuff I wanted, After all I was the one earning the money. But it was this way that I set up college fund for all of my brothers, some of whom actually used them for college. Hell one of my brothers is a lawyer, that aught to come in handy. Any ways I kept robbing liquor stores for a few years, and made a good living at it too. But I wanted more, like moving on to harder drugs after smoking a lot of pot. I needed more of a buzz. I started knocking over banks (This is about Five years ago), now that’s a rush. You have to a whole hell of a lot more home work on it if you plan on staying free though.
Guard Schedules.
Staff members
Points of entry
Alarm Systems.
It takes about three weeks of good planning, with multiple scouts, to get ready for the hit. So we rob a lot of banks all around the country, not near home. You shouldn’t shit where you eat. The take at these banks can be vast though. Each teller can have around $10,000 dollars in all their drawers. And if you plan it right there can be up to eight tellers on the floor, in a larger bank. $80,000without breaking a sweat. Most have only two tofour on the floor on a regular day, but $40,000 aint too shabby. And with a crew the size of mine, we can hit up to four banks a month, all around the country. That’s a lot of money. It’s the best job in the world.
Simple
Easy
All of us, my group, have our own reasons for doing it. Wrench, our wheelman, has a new baby. Dom, alarms and security, is mildly addicted to coke, and women; and the latter is far more expensive. And of course, there’s Twitch, Twitch is like me. He does it for the rush and because it’s far easier than a legit job. Twitch and I are the gunmen of the group. Sounds safe having a guy named twitch as a gunman, huh? That’s actually how he got the name. It was back when we were robbing liquor stores.
You see Twitch used to drop acid every once in a while. That shit stays in your system for like twenty years or something. So we’re hitting up this stop’n’rob outside of
“Oh shit,” I think, “the shop keep has a gun. Jack (That’s his real name) is gonna die.”
So I get up out of the car and draw my gun, while running toward the store. I aim the gun at the counter but the cashier is on the floor crying while the gun continues to fire, so I look up and there’s Twitch, yelling and firing at the ceiling randomly.
“Damn, these animals, they’re everywhere!” he yells.
“What the hell are you talking about,” I shout over the din.
“The bats,” he yells, continuing to fire off his last few rounds, “they’re everywhere.”
“Dude… There’s nothing here,” I say calmly as I take the hot, empty gun out of his hands. I grab what I can out of the register as I walk him out of the store.
“Sorry about the mess kid,” I say to the sobbing cashier.
Once I get Twitch into the car to make our get away, he begins to explain what happened.
“Man, so I was standing there, doing everything right, ya know, like we planned. And then outta nowhere I hear this loud screeching, And I look all around and these monster bats start flying all around me and I’m thinking, “I’m gonna Die, These bats are gonna eat me.” That clerk’s got balls though dude, he didn’t even flinch until I started shooting at the beasts. Then he freaked and hit the deck. Then I ran outta bullets and you came in and rescued me… we, we got the money right?”
“Yeah man, we got the money.”
Ever since that we’ve called him twitch. He also has I tick where his hands are all jittery because of a decade of drug abuse, but he’s clean now. That’s why he still works with us; you’ve got to be sharp in this line of work. Any ways, Fuck Twitch, he’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.
Bastard
Narc
Anyways, back to the op; basically we go in, steal everything we can, and get the hell out of there before the po-po shows up. Smash and grab job. After each heist, whatever we choose to do with the money is up to our own discretion, as long as it doesn’t : A, Get you caught, B, get you killed, or C, get you so screwed up that there is no way you can do the next job. It’s not easy to find good safe criminals these days. Everyone is so fucked up on drugs or booze or women that you can’t trust ‘em any more. After all, a junkie will do whatever they can to get their next fix. That can lead to getting caught.
Lawyers
Jail
Ass Rape
Not exactly an option. So, no junkies. Now I know what you’re thinking, what about Dom and Twitch. Well, Dom is just an occasional user, he doesn’t live to use. Twitch on the other hand; he used to be a junkie. He had it really bad, but we all helped him kick the habit. That was the longest month of my life. That bastard kept trying to escape to find his next hit. And when he wasn’t attempting escape he was clawing at imaginary assailants, and vomiting. I thought he would die. I didn’t get much sleep then, I know he didn’t. Had to be done, it’s just so hard to find good criminals these days. He was just that, a good criminal; that is until last week.
Alright, I think its time we got to why I’m writing the story of my life. My lawyer, my brother Marcos (told you it would come in handy), asked me to write this story so he could see if there was anything he could use to spin the jury in my favor. You see, we got caught, and I’m facing hard time.
Federal Pen
Ass Rape
Thirty consecutive sentences of ten to twenty years, (with good behavior I could be out for my 400th birthday.)
Now, I say we got caught but that’s not exactly true. Twitch got caught. Caught in a routine DUI stop. He was Three times the legal limit, I do admire his style. That’s when he did something really stupid. He tried to bribe a cop out of a DUI ticket with $10,000, with a 2.4% Blood alcohol level.
$10,000
Stolen money
Recent bank Robbery
Ding! A little alarm goes off in the pig’s head. Now how does a man in a 15 year old beater car have $10,000 in cash, in hand?
Hmmm…
Well…
Gee, it doesn’t take a genius to figure this one out. So twitch gets taken downtown and gets put in a holding cell. He sings like a canary. He gets promised less time, only five to ten years for: assault with a deadly weapon, DUI, Driving without a license, tax evasion, attempting to bribe an officer of the peace, possession, and over thirty counts of armed robbery, and grand larceny, and unlawful discharge of a firearm. Hell of a deal. The next day the rest of the crew was picked up, they tore Wrench away from his family, Dom was a little coked out so he shot it out with the pigs, He lost; hard. And that leaves me…
I got picked up in a very rude way. I was on the john, of all places, making, well… you know, and this pig knocks my down and yells, “Get down on the ground!”
So I’m like, “What the fuck are you doing, This is my home, asshole, get the fuck out.”
“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, PUNK!” He yells again.
“I speak English you dumb-ass, I’m a little busy, come back in five minutes. It’s not like I can escape, No windows, dip-shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me shit-dick, now run along now, I’m bus…”
That was as far as I got, a billy-club makes one hell of a silencer. When I woke up I was in the Interrogation room. They started to question me soon after-wards. All the usual stuff, did I do It, Why Did I do it, How they know it was me, telling me sob stories about the people that I robbed, how I ruined their lives. All that crap. I simply smile and say, “Don’t I get a phone call?”
Of course I call my brother Marcos, the Lawyer. He shows up playing everything from the race card to police brutality to god knows what else. Damn I’m glad I paid for his college. He bails me out.
Make a break for it?
No, that would be way too easy. We go back to his office and spend the night getting my story straight. My grand jury is set for the next week. Luckily all the bastards have on me is the word of a convicted multiple felon. With any type of luck, I’ll be let off the hook after the meeting. Who knows?
My brothers been on he phone for a long time now, he left the room about an hour ago when I started writing this. When he comes back I was about to ask who he was on he phone with, but he’s way ahead of me.
“John, I’ve got some great news, That was the prosecutor, he’s offered us, ten years, with possibility for parole after five. They’ve got nothing on you. However, I suggest you take it. It’s just about the best deal I’ve ever brokered.”
“Bro, that’s ten years, that’s a long fucking time,” I say.
“It’s a lot shorter than life, don’t you think. It’s the best you’ll ever get. I can’t promise to get you off. They’ve got about 500 tapes of you and your crew, all over the country. Even though I can get the judge to dismiss the most of them, not all will be thrown out, we get one guy on the jury who thinks he can make you out, you’re screwed, all the sentences.”
“You’re my brother, What would you do?”
“Take the deal, If not for you do it for mom. You know she doesn’t want to see you behind bars for the rest of your life. Take the deal.”
“Fine, I’ll take it, but not in maximum security. Get me minimum, or at least medium, I don’t feel like being surrounded by guys who I can’t take.”
So I take the deal, hey I did do it after all, it’s only right that I serve a little time. I just hate the way I got nipped. I’d a rather got caught red handed.
Hand in the cookie jar.
Egg on my face.
You can never choose the way you go. So I’ll serve my time, and when I get out, right back to work,
Fuck the law.
the first thing i ever wrote
Escape
Michael Youngberg
BANG, BANG, BANG!!!
WHAT THE …!!!
I look to the left and right and everyone is acting oddly, some are yelling and screaming; while still others seem to be oblivious, or just frozen with terror. The man in the doorway looks at me; he smiles, and squeezes his trigger. I don’t feel the first one, but the second one hits a nerve. My left shoulder goes slack.
The world goes red, then black. I’m still moving I can feel it. The gun is in my hands now. I don’t know how it got there, but its there. The world goes back closer to normal, but the room still glows red. The gunman is on the ground and bleeding, I see his smile is gone; the bastard. His magazine is empty.
My classmates look at me from their places in awe, but some seem almost oblivious to what’s happened; this is not exactly a normal day. “Does anyone in here know First Aid!” I holler. The frightened old nurse in the back of the room looks at me and quickly nods to the men in the back. I tell her to tend to the wounded, and I tell one of the more composed people to call for an ambulance and tell them that we have one dead with a high possibility of more to come. She gives me a frightened and puzzled look, so I yell, “I’m going to go see if there are more of them out there.” The men in white begin to come towards the dead Gunman. I eject the old magazine, and slam a full one into the AK-47; the bastard had a few spares on him. It looks like he, or they, were planning on quite a few deaths today.
I take a deep breath and let the adrenaline take over. Walking through the hall I hear muffled shots and screams. I run, the gun raises and fires, and then he’s down. No time to establish order though, I yell to them to call for paramedics. I’m gone before they are able to respond.
There are a few more situations to deal with and I, well, I survive; which comes as a surprise to all being that I’m out-numbered, out-gunned and wounded. The medics arrive flanked by cops, but the situation is already safe, if not exactly sane. The wounded, myself included, are carried off to another hospital; where most are treated for mainly low-grade gunshot wounds. Apparently the one I was in couldn’t treat a hero like me properly. I had taken one in the shoulder and one had grazed my thigh, that one hurt the most. They’re gonna hurt a lot worse when the morphine wears off; but until then its time to rest.
* * *
Four hours later I wake up to the click-clacking of some unsympathetic cop’s shoes. Apparently he doesn’t he know that this is no time to wake some one like me. Damn drugs only last so long, after-all. Officer PORKINS needs a statement from me before he goes; it seems he’s been here since they let me rest, waiting to come in. I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused him. He looks so damn familiar to me, I don’t know why. His white uniform matches the rest of the room giving off the impression that the dark skin of his head is floating around as he continues to pace; back and forth. So I asked him if we knew each other, he quickly (almost too quickly) responded, “No I… I don’t think we’ve met before, and if you can just tell me what happened today, I can be on my way.” Man, is he ever the jumpy one, and pushy too. I told him what I knew about what had happened, with a few embellishments to take care of the missing frames in my mind (I didn’t want to hold up the dough-nuts any longer). No reason to tell him that the movements, the ones I did remember, felt so natural, almost fluid; like muscle memory or something. No, he definitely doesn’t need to know that.
When he finally left I tried to get back to sleep, but I couldn’t. The events kept replaying in my mind, and the story is getting more and more shaded. The less I remember the more I need to know. I’m gonna have to ask the others what happened in that room. Even though I don’t think that they can tell me what I need to know.
How could I do what I did? I don’t regret it, that’s not what I mean. It just doesn’t make any sense. Especially since the last time I held a gun it was a .22 and I was a freaking boy scout, and not even a particularly good shot at that (I didn’t get the merit badge). That was more than ten years ago. Almost half of my life, I’m only twenty-one after all. Yet here I am, some how able to use an automatic rifle under extreme circumstances. The only time I’ve seen one of those guns was in the movies, and movies aren’t that effective of training tools. I mean the last time I played ‘soldier’ I was like nine, so that’s not how I was trained. “Screw it I’ll have plenty of time to figure this one out tomorrow,” I think as I finally allow the night (and drugs) to take me.
* * *
I can’t breathe all of a sudden. The world is totally black, and smells like the industrial laundry detergent they always use in places like this. I hear the muffled sounds of someone laughing, or maybe just talking. What is pressing on my face? I reach up to take it away and someone grabs my hands, oh shit. “This is it,” I think, “this is how I’m going to die.” Then the darkness tints red and I’m not struggling any more, about five seconds later neither do they. The next thing I know I’m standing and they… aren’t. Blood stains their Doctor’s coats where the scalpels landed. The pillow they tried to snuff me out with is on the floor next to them, the blood seeps into and up the threads, I feel sick. The blood is making me nauseas. So I run. (Admittedly it’s not the best choice; but the most obvious one at the moment.) This is the second time in the same 24 hours that someone has tried to kill me. It’s the second time I’ve been saved by something, some training from a previous life, like a survival mode. One thing’s for sure, someone is out to get me.
Why are these people after me? What have I done to them? Who are they? All I know is, I’m not safe here.
Once I come to my senses, I find an orderly and tell him what has happened. He looks at me like I’m some kind of drug patient. He assures me it was just a dream and he takes me back to a room, I don’t think it was my room, no dead bodies. No blood. Maybe they already cleaned them up. It’s probably a new room but who can really tell in a place like this. Everything is white wherever you look, it’s disorienting. At least it appears sterile, a small comfort.
Everything is in order in this room and that makes me feel a little safer. I try to rest but due to my previous experience, sleep does not come easy.
* * *
PORKINS came back for another visit in the morning, He said he heard about the ‘development’ he says it’s ‘very troubling’ to him. He sits down and asks me about my day and how I’ve been feeling lately. You know all those bullshit small talk questions that people ask, just trying to be polite. I don’t buy it.
“How the hell do you think I feel? Why are you here again PORKINS, I gave you my statement, what do you want from me?” I snarl.
He assures me, “I don’t want anything from you, I just want to make sure you are doing O.K. here.”
“We’d hate to have to transfer you to a more intensive clinic. We aren’t going to need to do that are we?” He adds almost too nicely.
Coyly I respond, “No sir, I don’t think we need to do that.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, is there anything else I can do for you today.”
“No sir, I’m fine now.”
After a little more chit-chat, PORKINS got up and left. Finally some peace. The nerve of that man though, coming back after what happened yesterday, and acting like I was at fault for the ‘incident’ last night. Threatening me with transfer, how can he do that? He’s not in charge, is he? He’s a damn cop after all, a probably just a rent-a-pig. Though it might be a good thing; this is not safe terrain for me. I seem to be a wanted man here; I’ve got to keep on the move so that they don’t get to me. They’re close, I can smell ‘em, and they’ve proved I’m not safe here. I’ll have to disappear. Go somewhere they’ll never find.
But how am I supposed to escape this god awful place, it’s built like a labyrinth. They planned this place to trap all the germs inside so that the outside world would be safe. But , I’m trapped in this cesspool of disease and despair. All night long I hear people screaming and hollering because they’ve been infected, they scream and yell until the cops and paramedics show up, all dressed in white, and give them drugs to kill the disease and make them okay again. It’s just a matter of time before they get to me too. Maybe that’s their plan, kill me with disease. This place reeks of them. They must have penetrated the hospital before I got here, just in case. I need to get out; they won’t be prepared for that. If I’m gonna escape it will have to be at night. Yeah… that is when they sleep, they can’t watch me then. Then I can be free… Free.
What is free?
I can’t remember much from before, I remember my childhood: The long nights camping with my father and sisters, the smell of mom’s home-cooked meals when we would come home. The birds chirping outside the window while I did my home work, the taste of my First Love’s kiss on my lips…
I miss those days so much.
After I graduated high school I don’t remember much. I remember my parents were very proud of me, and then I felt very scared and alone, but nothing else… My family was so distant and I don’t know why. Since then, I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals like this one. I must be constantly injured, even though I can’t find the wounds. I guess I heal quickly. They let me go to school, and I get to learn so that I can be productive when I get better. But every time I get close to getting out… they come after me.
They won’t let me get out!
They won’t let me be free!
I have to get out!
I’m suffocating here!
This place is going to get to me soon and then there will be no hope left. They keep attacking me. They’re trying to keep me here so I’ll get sick and go crazy; and some days, I think they may be winning.
NO!
They won’t win, they can’t. I’ve got to escape, but how. I don’t have a lot of time before they come after me again.
* * *
After spending a long time on my bed huddled up in deep thought, I get up and begin to pace the room like an expectant father. I can’t think of any way out of this hell hole. This place is all so seemingly perfect, and clean, but I know the dirty truth and I need a way out. Less thought and more action. That’s the only way out. I’ve got to wait until the time is right, then I’ll make a run for it.
* * *
The men in white come by to help me to class, I assure them that I‘ll be able to make it on my own but they don’t let go. They keep walking me forward. Forcing me forward. I use all the force I have to get them off of me, and it works.
Holy Shit it worked!
No time to celebrate though, I hit the ground running. And they can’t catch me, the alarm starts blaring. I turn left and right, but I can’t find a way out of here. I feel like a rat in a maze this place is all too similar to figure out where I’m going, no landmark. I feel like I’ve been running forever, my heart pumps battery acid.
Finally some luck, PORKINS appears at the door of what looks like a stair-well. I get to the stairs right as PORKINS walks out in his sparkling uniform, he tries to grab me but he fails, ha damn pig. Its too late, I’m in the stairs, I can get out.
They’ll be guarding the bottom, so I run up, up, up the stairs to the roof. I narrowly dodge orderlies and foul-looking nurses as I tear up the stairs.
No!
No it can’t be!
There is a large man blocking the door. There’s no way, how could he have known I would come this way. I try to get past him but it’s no use. He grabs me and slams me down on a bed in the hallway; his friends strap me to the bed with leather bands while he holds me in place. At some time during this, Officer PORKINS head floats into the room.
“I’m sorry Oliver, but you’ve left us no choice. Don’t worry you’ll be all better soon,” he says calmly.
“You!?! You’re one of Them! How can you do this to me? What did I ever do to you, you Bastard! LET ME GO, DAMMIT! LET ME GO! I’M A HERO!”
One of the men slips a needle into my arm, world begins to swim peacefully.
“I’M A H e r o……………”
Incident report # 1138
Patient: Oliver C. Deitrich
Reporting Clinician: Dr. P. Orkins; M.D.
Date: November 1st, 1966
Patient # 327:
Patient was suffering from paranoid delusions, due to “Battle Fatigue” linked to his service record. His time served in the recent Vietnam Conflict appears to be the central cause of his disease. Patient #327 also displays symptoms of retrograde amnesia. He does not seem to remember his military training, or much of his life afterward leading to his court-martial or his commitment to this facility.
Patient had one outburst at 8:50 am during free-time on Tuesday the ninth of October, and had another episode later the same day at 10:30 pm where he claimed to have been attacked, and that he defeated his attackers. Patient displays classic signs of Paranoia.
The following day Patient #327 attempted an escape from this facility on the way to get his morning medication. He sprinted up the stairway but was promptly stopped by the Guard at the top of the stairs. He was then restrained on a gurney, and given an anesthetic. Shortly after which the patient was treated with our Electro-shock therapy equipment. I believe that the therapy has been successful. All of our nurses have reported a significant improvement in the #327’s behavior. I firmly believe this treatment is still very useful, I suggest we practice it more often in the treatment of our patients.
Signed,