He fired another shot into the ceiling as the last of the bank patrons dropped to the floor. Some were cursing under their breaths and others were crying and some were hysterical as the gunman nervously made his way from one teller to the other.
“IN THE BAG!” He yelled as he held it up in front of each frightened teller. As the gunman moved he waved the gun into their faces to hurry them along. At the last of the tellers he took the bag by both handles with the gun still in one hand. As he turned around he fired off another shot into the roof.
“No body moves, no body gets hurt!” He yelled as he headed for the door. A bank robbery that could have gone so well, well, it didn’t. A teller with a finger on a alarm button turned the robbers world up side down as he exited a side door.
“DROP YOUR WEAPON AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”
A voice came through a bull horn. Just a few seconds seemed like hours as the gunman froze and the next move was his. The next decision he made he was sure wasn’t the right one as a shaking hand came up and pointed the pistol at the cops that surrounded him. Before he could blink the sound of gunfire reached his ears and the hot lead of a bullet pierced his chest was the next thought that crossed his mind. He felt his hand release it’s grip on his own gun. Then he remembered feeling his legs giving out beneath him and falling towards the ground. He was badly wounded. He was dying. It seemed funny to him. He was dying and he could hear the cops talking around him clearly. He heard one tell the other about how stupid he was with his gun. Another about how good the shot was. Then things began to fade and all was going black. He was dying and all was going quiet.
When the light came on from over head he wasn’t sure where he was. He remembered being at the bank. He remembered the robbery had gone well until he left the bank then he remembered it had all suddenly gone so wrong. The loud bull horn announcement from the cops, the raising of his hand with the gun in it and pointing it at the Officers. Why the hell did he do that? He knew it would get him shot. He just didn’t know what made him so stupid. The last thing he remembered was the gun shot that hit him.
As the light shone into his eyes he stared around him. He was in a living room, it might have been his own, he wasn’t sure about that part. He could see the kitchen across the room from where he was. The dark had almost been over whelming. The over head light was even more so.
“So far, so good.” He thought as he looked around. To the right what looked like a bedroom came into his vision as he continued to take in the surroundings. Pictures on the walls, rugs here and there on polished wood floors. Hanging lights with cut crystals that shined brightly through out the room. A ceiling fan in the center of the room was turning slowly, apparently for the aesthetics, definitely not fast enough for any movement of air to help cool anything off.
For the longest time he sat just watching the area around him. Once in a while he’d hear a noise and quickly he’d turn to see who or what was making it. At the same time preparing or flight to escape the nearing threat.
At one point he saw a shadow and then the figure of a man who crossed from one side of the kitchen to another. He almost took flight then realized who ever it was hadn’t seen him. Hell, he didn’t even say hi to him. Taking a breath he watched and the man he’d seen had not returned to his view
He didn’t know how long he’d sat there. After what felt like hours he looked around and the shadow of the man from the kitchen was coming in his direction. Almost upon him he turned left and cringed a bit. It was several seconds before he let out the breath he’d been holding. Minutes more passed before he began to wonder why the man hadn’t addressed him. He knew he’d been shot but he didn’t think he it had affected his voice at all.
“I robbed a bank,” he told himself, “so what? I didn’t shoot anybody. I wasn’t that bad,… I wasn’t that bad.”. He thought to himself.
Minutes passed and the man from the kitchen had returned to the living room. As he passed the robber looked to the right and saw a picture that sat on the table. The glass front of the picture frame was reflecting the area behind him and his eyes lowered and what he expected to see wasn’t there. At the top of the reflection all he saw was the room behind him. As his eyes dropped down the reflection they came to something else lower in the glass.
A fly, a single solitary fly was sitting on the table. Looking up again then back down again only the vision of the fly was there. It didn’t take long for him to realize that he was not in the vision, at least not like he was. Apparently he was now the fly. He had died, and now he had come back as a fly A fly, a damned fly! Now what was he gonna do?! How was he gonna spend the rest of his life as a fly!?
“SPLAT!” The man brought his fly swatter down on the fly that was sitting on the table. Reaching down he flicked the now dead fly off of the table and continued on across the living room looking for another fly,….