A collection of short stories and journalistic commentaries depicting my simple life
and how I fit in with the modern day universe of our times



"Wake the fuck up!" Mark yelled loudly to awaken Nate.

"Ok, dammit...." Nate replied arising from what could have been the deepest sleep of his life, a dream state where you’re almost not even asleep. You just wake up.

The two hoodlums sat up in their seats and prepared for their latest act of robbery. Sweat ran down the temple and forehead of Nate’s face. He reached under the passenger's seat remembering something his father had told him as a young boy.

"Nate, you become only what you make of yourself."

He loaded his all black 9-millimetre handgun, and slid it in the front seem of his pants. A blue sign read up ahead, 1/2 mile gas and food; next exit on the right.

"Ok, you know the plan Nate. I’m going to back into a parking space close by. You go in and ask for a pack of jacks. When he turns around, you hold that gun right in his fucking Arab face."

Mark was three years older than Nate, and as far as Mark knew, he had the whole world figured out.

"And if he plays any fucking games, let one or two of those things off over his head" Mark demanded as he turned right on to the exit road. 


It was almost 2:00 am. A summer night in July, and they were only one of the few cars on I-95. Nate could tell deep inside that something life changing would be occurring soon enough. In the back of his mind, he knew that every time he went through with this, he would be closer to death, or a life in prison. It had worked twice already this month. The first two times Joe had done the dirtiest part of the deeds. Now it was Nate’s time to blossom.

Nate had already lost everything. His father had died when he was only nine through a car accident. After that loss, his mother's personality had quickly begun to change. There was the heavy drinking, staying out late leaving Nate home alone, and regularly bringing strange men to the house; forcing Nate to hit the streets late in the night.

So Mark was looked upon as an older brother, giving him food and a place to stay whenever he couldn’t take his own household any longer. But at the same time, teaching him all about guns and drugs.

Mark turned right at a stoplight, and they could both now see the seven eleven up ahead. They pulled into the convenience store parking lot. An elderly man with a black towel wrapped around his head was standing behind the register looking out through the shop window. There were no other cars in the empty parking lot, as they pulled into a space backwards.

Mark turned to Nate with a look of approval.

"You got this one Nate; you've seen us do it twice. I’ll be right here in drive ready to gun it."

Nate nodded and got out the car. Butterflies where fluttering around in his stomach, as he opened the front doors and heard the beep of the doorway announce his entrance. Nate didn’t look at the cashier as he walked down the candy section. He calmly picked up a bag of mints and headed toward the register. As he looked up, the Arabian clerk was eye-balling Mark and the car still running, he then looked back at Nate walking up towards him.

"Hello sir and how are you tonight? Nate enquired while he placed the mints onto the counter. By now his hands were trembling and he knew the old man could see it. The clerk didn’t reply as he quickly scanned the barcode.

"Total, one twenty three," the old man said while looking back out at the car and then back at Nate.

"Oh yeah, and a packet of Newport one hundreds," Nate added as he pointed over the cashier’s shoulder to the cigarette console behind him. The clerk turned his back to reach for the smokes, and that was when Nate pulled the slick black heater out from under his hoody. He cocked it back with shaking hands and demanded the cash from the register draw.

"Give me the fucking money now you bastard!" Nate yelled as he held his pistol up.

The Arab assistant turned around slowly and walked over towards Nate. He put the cigarettes down on the counter and looked him dead in his eyes. Nate saw no fear in the old Arab's face as he held the gun close to his forehead.

"Get out, you mad fucker!" the clerk screamed as he reached under the counter and grabbed for a small gun. He lifted it to Nate’s head and Nate dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"Get out!" the clerk screamed one last time as he loaded the twenty two and pointed down at the cowering teenager.

Then one shot went off loudly and what seemed like glass being shattered to a thousand pieces was heard around the store. Nate knew in his mind he was surely dead and gone now, parted from this hell called life, and rising onwards towards a heaven. A place where there was no hurting or pain, where people go without having to bring a single thing along with them.

A few seconds later Nate heard the entrance bleep of the doorway as Mark ran into the store. Nate reached around his body for traces of a gun wound or some sort of bleeding. There was nothing.

"Come on Nate get the fuck up now man!" Mark yelled as he pulled up Nate by the material of his hoody. Nate stood up and took in the bloody scene. The elderly man was lying behind the counter, face down with the right side of his head blown clean off. He could see the man’s brains running into a bloody puddle on the freshly waxed floor tiles. He just stood there, dumbfounded as to what had just happened. Mark was already behind the register trying to prise it open.

"Fuck Nate, I don’t know the code to use it, the asshole locked it up."

Mark turned to the dead man on the floor, and kicked him pointlessly in the stomach. He ran around the counter and hastily pushed Nate out the door without the earnings. Nate was still in shock as he opened the door of the car and hopped in.

Mark threw the twelve gauge sawn off murder weapon onto the back seat of the car and the two of them sped out of the parking lot heading back towards the highway. Nate’s entire life had just flashed before his own eyes.

"What the hell Mark? You fucking killed him, you killed him!" Nate yelled over the sound of screeching tyres.

'Yeah, well he was gonna kill you!" Mark yelled back at him with more anger.

The two of them sat there with their eyes wide open as they saw blue lights in the distance through their rear view mirrors. Nate knew it wouldn’t be long now before they would get pulled over by a million cops. He blamed Mark for everything wrong in his life at that exact moment. Then he blamed his mother. Then his father.

"We're done for Mark, and it’s all your fault. You had to go and kill him. Why?" Nate screamed with a crackly voice.

"Why you ungrateful piece of shit!"

Mark turned off to the side of the highway and slammed on his brakes.

"Get the fuck out! Now!" Mark yelled and reached over and opened Nate’s door.

Nate just sat still, not moving one bit.

"Nooo, what do I do, where do I go?" Nate was now crying an endless amount of tears.

Mark lifted his foot over the seat and kicked him four hard times with his boots before Nate fell out of the car onto the gravel. He then threw the nine millimetre and his shotgun out of the window on the ground next to Nate’s crumpled body.

"Good luck you little prick!" Mark screamed out the window while speeding back onto the highway.

Nate slowly stood up and brushed himself off. He soon noticed he wasn’t crying any more, instead he was listening. Listening hard, to an awkward and disturbing sound. It was the sound of his own voice. He had been sadistically laughing aloud into the empty air for what seemed to be an eternity. He was looking up into the night sky like he was directing it toward something or someone. He stopped laughing and caught his breath then fell to a foetal position holding his knees within his arms.

He looked up with glaring eyes and about two hundred yards in front to see rows of flashing lights coming his way. Rather than taking flight, he just lay there and thought about how he used to go fishing with his dad at weekends, and how he had taken him to go carting one time. He had so much anger built up for his father. How could he leave him to rot on this planet all alone?

Nate then had a sense of clarity, as the flashing lights came closer he stood up, walked over to the murder weapon on the ground and picked it up. He dropped hard to his knees and placed the short double barrel into his mouth. Looking up to the black night sky, he forgave his father as he pulled the trigger blowing the back of his head out of his skull. It was all over now, no more. No more pain.



"Wake the fuck up!" Mark yelled loudly to awaken Nate.

"Ok, dammit...." Nate replied arising from what could have been the deepest sleep of his life, a dream state where you’re almost not even asleep. You just wake up.

"Pull over now Mark!" Nate yelled in a cold pouring sweat. He was soaked in the coldest realisation of his life, and he wanted out.

Mark pulled the car to the side of the road where he had previously dropped Nate off before in his dream.

"Good luck you little prick!" mark screamed out the window while speeding onto the highway for a second time.

Nate couldn’t have made a clearer decision if his life had depended on it. Except for that one single thought of forgiveness. And from that moment on he just knew that life would be good to him.






FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR I WON'T SINSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

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Its my own fault really, its all about what I see in the world, and how it all translates for me.

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