FLICKERFADEGONE BY CARLJOE JAVIER

FlickerFadeGone

by Carljoe Javier

He brought the pistol up to shoulder level, let his right hand fingers wrap smoothly around it, put the palm of his left hand on the butt for support. The gun was light in his hand as he swung it from left to right, clearing the perimeter while he zoomed into the grocery store.

He’d been through this before, but he still tensed as he slid through the store’s shattered glass door. He went over the mission’s specs in his head: at least 30 perps in the store, plus three employees still inside.

Bang bang bang, three to the chest. Reload. One had jumped in front of him as he stepped through the diaper aisle. Next aisle, canned goods, three perps, one holding a knife to a hostage. His arm glided from left to right, bang bang, two in the chest, perp down. Bang, headshot. Reload. Last crook on the right with the hostage: one to the leg, hostage runs, bang, headshot. Reload.

He went through the rest of the grocery in the same methodical manner. Bang bang bang, reload; bang bang bang, reload; bang bang bang, reload; it was a rhythm that he’d developed over the years. Cutting down the perps gave him a rush, but his adrenaline got pumping whenever there was a hostage to save.

As he went through the cashier’s counters he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears and feel the pistol getting slippery from his sweating palm. One more hostage, he thought.

Bang, ugh, he’d taken a hit. A thug had popped up from behind a counter with the hostage. While the woman struggled against him the thug raised his arm to take aim again. Bang bang bang, reload.

ALL HOSTAGES SAVED. He smiled, put the pistol back in his holster and wiped his palms on his pants. He watched onscreen as his statistics were tallied: Hits Taken: 1; Hostages Saved: 3; Shots Taken: 105; Hits: 97; Accuracy: 92%. Not bad, he said to himself.

He left the machine and paced around the empty arcade trying to decide what enemies he’d face next. He took the nylon string necklace that served as a key chain off. In his right hand he played with the master key, sliding it through his fingers. With it he was the master of the arcade; with one turn of the key he could become Spiderman or Cyclops, a World War II pilot, an F-1 racer; or he could take up a gun and shoot down secret agents, terrorists, terminators, zombies, dinosaurs. He played almost all the games, and the games where there were people to save drew him most.

He put the key into the slot, turned it, and put the key back around his neck. His hands slid onto the keypad; right hand fingers crawling over the buttons, left hand wrapping around the joystick. Staring into the screen he could see his reflection at first, but as the game started he felt his image fading, replaced by the action onscreen.

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Reading Selection 11: FlickerFadeGone - Download