Clink, Clink, Clink. The rounds enter the .357, each one louder than the last. Each one is getting harder to load than the last. My hand shakes with fear as I tell myself over, and over again. I was forced to do this; I was forced to do this. Finally, the pistol is loaded, and with my other hand, I hold it steadily to stop the shaking. I walk around the lonely old gas station. As I stand out front I peek through the window. I see the cashier but thankfully the gas station is empty. Just as I had planned. There may not be as much money in a gas station in the middle of nowhere but at least it’s the safest option. I take on more deep breaths in and prepare for the worst.
“DING” The bell chimes as I enter the gas station. Never thought they could be that loud. The inside of the station smells. The lights are dim, and the one in the back looks like it's going out. Soft country music plays from a CD player behind the counter from which a clueless man eats some kind of cheesy puff. I enter with the gun buried in my hoody pocket. I go up to the counter of the gas station. “Don’t talk, don’t make a sound. Take everything out of the cash register, and put it in the bag.” I say as I grab a shopping bag next to the counter. The man behind the counter continues to watch the TV next to him. Not even bother to look at me. “Oh? Or what big guy?” he says with a sarcastic tone. I pull out the gun from my pocket, and rest it on the counter while pointing at him. “I said, don’t talk…” I say it quietly but with a demanding tone. The cashier finally looks at me and quickly notices the gun. Without saying another word his face fills with fear, and he grabs the bag and fills it with money. While doing this I hear a gasp behind me. I look to see who made the sound, and I see a young woman poorly hiding behind one of the aisles. I raise the gun towards her, and say “No! Put it down! We aren’t calling the cops today!” The young woman softly screams out of fear and puts down her phone. I grab her and push her against the counter, holding the gun against her back. “What’s taking so long!” I angrily yell at the cashier. He speeds up as the young woman begins to sob silently.
Without warning the radio behind the counter goes out. Now, nothing but static can be heard through it. “Who did that?” I yell. The cashier looks confused, and frightened but has not left the cash register at all. Suddenly the sound of food clacking on the hard floor of the gas station can be heard. It's slow and without rhythm. I turn towards where the sound is coming from. “Who’s there? Come out now!” I demand. From the back of the store, an old man walks from behind one of the aisles. He’s walking with a wooden cane and looks at me directly in the eyes. His eyes are soft, and bright blue. He’s wearing some kind of old beat-up flight jacket. “Hey, I told everyone to get down, that includes you old man!” I continue to shout. I throw the young woman on the ground and to her knees. I hold the gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger. “Don’t test me, old man, GET DOWN!” I yell one last time. The old man does not stop, and through his perseverance, fear floods my mind. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.
I change the direction of the gun, and instead of pointing it at the young woman, I point it toward the chest of the old man. My hands begin to shake slightly as I try my best to gain control of the situation. “Don’t make me shoot you.” I plead to the old man. The old man does not stop. He continues to walk up and only stops when his chest rests against my gun. “You know, It's easier to use that thing when the safety is off.” He says with a slight grin on his face. “Wh-who are you, old man?!” I ask with confusion and fear. The old man looks down at the gun, and back up me with a smile. “I’m someone. No one knows.” Through the confusion, I began to become aggravated again. I press the gun against his chest with more force. But the old man continues, “But what you really should be asking yourself is. Are you ready or not?” he asks. I become confused but don’t stand down.
“Ready for what?” I ask. The old man looks back right into my eyes. “Ready to watch the life leave another man's eyes.” He replies. I decide to double down, pull back the hammer of the gun, and rest my finger on the trigger. “If you don’t back off. Well, I guess I’ll have to be.” I say while trying to be as intimidating as possible, hoping the old man can't see the fear in my heart. “Nothing’s making you. You know, everything you’ve done in your life, brought you to this moment, because you made it.” He says with a tough but still soft tone. He continues, “Everyone has a destiny, son. What we can control is how we react to it. You reacted wrong… Now, you’d continue to do so by pulling that trigger. And by pulling that trigger you’ll just continue. Do you think that after you kill me, you’ll be able to live your life?” He says. His words stab me with every syllable, flooding me further with anxiety, and fear. He continues “After this, our lives become intertwined. You kill me, you kill yourself! You think you can go back to your life? You think you can go back home?! Do you think you’re going to be able to sleep at night?! You’ll spend the rest of your days looking over your shoulder. Wondering if they’re coming for me today, or coming for me tonight. We will be on the run, you and I, forever. And the sad part is… You did it to yourself… So go ahead. Pull the trigger.” He finishes. He looks me right in the eyes as my hand uncontrollably shakes. Fear is an understatement of the state of intimidation he has put me through. Within seconds I look back at my life and thought about what put me through this. But yet I question, I was forced to do this. He does not budge while looking into my hallowed eyes. He acts without fear of death as I remain there, pale as a ghost. I take on last moment to decide.
My arm drops out of defeat. I push the hammer back for the gun and begin to walk out. As I go through the doors of the gas station something knocks into my hand and forces me to drop the gun inside the store. I don’t spend any time picking it up, instead I run as fast as I can. Before I get too far from the gas station I look back one last time, and see the old man pick up the gun. He leaves the gas station and stops right in front of it. He looks at me as I begin to run further. I continue to run, leaving the gas station behind. As I reach the opposing side of the road, I look back one last time, only to see the old man has vanished.
Writer: Jonah Stone
Editor: Marie Osmola