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Something I posted yonksss ago. Might as repost for the hell of it, new audience and all that crap. Yeah.
Any comments and so forth welcome. So, erm. Groovy.
“You were discovered by the arresting officers with a weapon in your hands, covered in blood, and three dead bodies lay around you. You were quite literally caught red handed, and this effectively plays a major role in my decision. Due to past run-ins with the law and your continuing to offend, but more so, the apparent ferocity with which you committed these heinous crimes, I sentence you, sir, to life imprisonment, and I deny the right of parole!”
The old, wrinkle faced high-court judge slammed his gavel down onto his desk to define his statement, as there was an uproar in the court.
Aaron Smith’s hands began to twitch as his face began to sweat. He hadn’t trembled so much for many years now, age bringing him more control over this life long nervous reaction of his. But now, he could control it no more. He sat anxiously, telling his lawyer, over and over, “Bu… but I didn’t do it! I had nothing at all to do with it, you gotta believe me! Please!”
But his efforts became more and more futile as the smartly suited legal representative gathered his documents, closed his briefcase, and began to leave.
“I’m sorry, I really am. But there’s nothing more I can do.”
He sounded as if he were sorrier at the fact he’d lost the case, and along with it, a bonus to attribute the victory. Aaron continued the pleading to nobody in particular, as his sorrowful cries echoed around the now near empty courtroom. Security guards approached him, and clasped his bright orange jumpsuit, raising him from his seat which he was slumped into, sobbing into his hands.
*****
Aaron Smith strode along Ealing Street, his slightly torn jeans clinging to his legs as the ever increasing wind battered against him. Grasping the collar of his worn out leather jacket, he ruffled it against his neck in an attempt to generate heat, while at the same time blocking the ferocious gale. He dodged an old, rusty ladder that rather annoyingly blocking the narrow pavement, forcing him to shimmy out onto the road for a moment. As he continued towards the bank, excited by the rather large sum of money he’d gratefully received by an “unofficial” employer, he glanced skywards, wondering if the rain would hold for much longer. There were great billowing grey clouds above, and the evening darkness would be drawing in soon, so he had to hurry.
He soon arrived outside the great, but somewhat discoloured marble pillars of the bank. It was a recent relocation of his precious branch which had caused him to walk that extra distance to get here. It didn’t bother him much – it would at least keep him the slightest bit fitter. And besides, the new tellers here just had to be better than the miserable lot he’d grown accustomed to.
As he approached the automatic doors of the large building, he glanced to his left. Standing there was a black cat – saturated with the rain that had begun so heavily. He heard what seemed to be the cat hissing at him, attempting to dissuade him from entering. He paused momentarily in bemusement at this. Slightly spooked though, he continued onward into the bank and towards the main queue that later split off onto different cashiers. The place was relatively empty, and a coolness lingered in the air. An automated, robotic voice informed him he should go to cashier 13. Ladders, black cats, the number 13? He half expected the cashier to be named Lucifer, as he strolled towards the far side of the bank.
“Ah, Dave. No such luck”, he jokingly thought to himself. As he prepared to greet the bank clerk, an ear-piercing screech was heard from outside. Aaron spied a dark grey van through the tinted glass of the automatic doors. As he screwed up his face in bewilderment, wondering what was going on, the rear doors swung open with an aggressive force, and four men leapt out. The odd couple of people that had spotted the darkly clothed, masked men were beginning to panic. Aaron’s right hand began to twitch slightly, and he swung his left hand cross his body to control.
As the intruders waltzed through the doors, with such precise motion and deliberateness that it seemed this was a routine they’d prepared. The taller of the men, and the first to enter the building, began to flail a pistol around, which, to him it seemed, was universally known as “Get down or I’ll shoot you all”. The occupants of the bank seemed to get the general idea, or at least, they’d seen enough American action movies to understand what he meant. He cautiously, but swiftly scanned the room for any form of security camera. There only seemed to be one, and at the moment, it seemed to be facing no particular direction at all. No particular useful direction at least – the wall mount seemingly stretched to its limits to accommodate the camera being turned to look at the ceiling. The gunman shot it out anyway – most likely a precaution, in case, perhaps, the camera was automatic, and decided to swivel around with an electronic hum. The 3 men followed on.
The two immediately behind him were airing out navy, polyester-like bags, and the trailing man also seemed to have some kind of pistol, yet he entered with some kind of unseen aura that gave Aaron the impression he was running the show here.
As the occupants of the room were herded into a corner, – the corner were Aaron had been about to be served – the men with bags hurriedly moved towards separate cashiers, and commanded the bags be filled with money. Aaron watched as the smaller of the men waved the bag in front of an unflinching cashier. He took mental note of this – she merely continued to stare him in the eye as he barked commands. She slowly followed the orders, her hardened face only glimpsing down at what she was doing every now and then.
Aaron was almost used to this kind of situation. Long ago, he’d been a cop, but leaving on medical grounds. The twitching deeply affected him, mentally more than anything. He had felt useless with the force. The inability to hold a gun straight rendered him practically worthless in that field of work. He now dabbled in the darker of sides – the enemy whom he once fought. But none of this mattered now. All he knew was that if anybody was going to impede this robbery, it was going to be him. And hell, he wanted it done before the law appeared. It’d be likely that they’d question witnesses and so on, and that was exactly the kind of attention he didn’t want police to be offering him – not now. If he was lucky, he’d end up with some kind of sum of money at the end of all this.
Time began to pass, the outside world seemingly unaware of the commotion inside. The shorter, stockier of men with a gun turned to face the van outside, and nodded. Again, there was a screeching, as the van roared off. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight in these parts – the drivers weren’t the most orderly here. Parking haphazardly on the street was becoming more and more common.
A precious chance was given – the robbers, a little distracted by the sudden outburst of noise by the van, simultaneously glanced outside. The hard-faced cashier took her chance. With, from Aarons view, a quick jolt of her arm seemed to press some kind of button. Aaron could only guess. The men possessing the bags regained concentration, keeping a hawk-like eye on the cashiers they were intimidating. A man, roughly 40 Aaron estimated, seemed to be boiling underneath - a temper looked to be building. The first gunman who entered the bank had been patrolling back and forth across the huddled group of hostages. As the gunman passed the middle-aged man, he attempted to take matters into his own hands. He skilfully and agilely pounced on the gunman. The gunman who seemed to be leading this whole incident, who had been admiring a motivational picture on the wall, spun on his heels as he heard the grunts of the two struggling men. The concentration in his mind was clear – his narrowing eyes visible through the slits in his balaclava.
With no hesitation whatsoever, he raised his weapon solidly to eye level and paused for a moment. Uncertainty seemed to kick in. Aaron took this chance: it was his only chance. He sprawled himself at the two in an attempt to knock them from the gunman’s line of sight. A deafening ‘crack’ was heard, as the trio of men slumped to the ground, and a flurry of shouts and screams succeeded the weapons noise. A red puddle became visible, and began to soak the cream coloured carpet of the bank. Someone had been hit by the bullet. Taking the opportunity themselves, the other hostages began to rush past the firing gunman for the exit, as he slowly approached the 3, and set his eyes upon a masked man, who lay writhing on the floor. His stunned face gazed upon him; it was clear he hadn’t intended to kill someone before. Whether to run, or to try and save his life. Whether to save his own skin, or to take the morally just action.
One of the men who’d been filling the bags, and had by now been battling with the rear fire exit in an attempt to get it open, had only now realised what was going on. After eventually kicking the heavy open, he gradually made his way across the room to the others. He looked downward, dumbstruck by what he saw.
“Wh…what the hell… did you do to him?!”, he whimpered, trying to turn it into a shout. “Now you’ve got a murder on your conscience too!”, he continued, refraining from lunging upon him.
“I…I…”, he stammered, “I didn’t… mean to shoot him, I just…”. His voice trailed off, as he continued to just stare down at the, by now, peacefully still body.
“He’s my brother for Christ’s sake!” he bawled, no practically reduced to tears.
He fell to his knees, dropping the cloth bag to the ground. He removed the balaclava from the dead mans head to reveal the face of his fallen brother. He had to see it one last time.
Sirens came into earshot as the group of men remained silent. Aaron had only just noticed the disappearance of the man who’d caused the death, but allowed the escape of the hostages. He pondered over whether he had carefully escaped, allowing the robbers to get on with it. Or whether he’d feared for his life, as he and Aaron were the only remaining witnesses, besides the cashiers.
The thought of failure and defeat began to sink into the leaders mind. He almost admitted to himself the fact they’d been compromised, and that the whole thing had gone wrong. With a new desire to get out of here without being caught, he whirled round, fixing his sights on the cashier area. With the new desire to escape seemed to come the unknowing of fear and consequences, as he once again raised his weapon in the direction of the cashiers, and unloaded the magazine in a flurry of repetitive shots, killing the remaining three. Aaron had remained alive – for now – and he had no idea why or how. He’d decided against any kind of action that’d bring the men’s attentions to him once again.
“Will you guys hurry the hell up?!”, yelled the other robber, clutching a filled bag as he stood at the rear exit.
“We ain’t just gonna leave him here, are we? We can’t!” said the brother of the dead man, perplexed at how his fellow raider could think of such heartlessness.
“We have to, c’mon, lets go!”
Reluctantly, still clutching the balaclava of his brother, he began to run towards the exit, accompanied by the leader. In all the commotion, it seemed, they’d forgotten about Aaron. He couldn’t believe it. Glancing down towards the floor, he spotted a gleaming metallic object, edging out from underneath the corpse. Without hesitation, he lifted the man enough to retrieve the weapon, and decided to pursue the men. As he checked the chamber of the weapon, which, from years experience took him no time at all, the rough, crisp and distinctive sound of a diesel engine came into hearing. He jogged over towards the rear door, just as the men were piling into the vehicle. He raised the gun, and quickly fired off a volley of shots – all hitting his target, despite his heavily wavering hand – but this failed to impede them in the slightest.
“You there! Freeze! Drop the weapon!”, came a yell from behind him. “I will not ask you again! Drop the weapon!”
Aaron began to turn, only to be denied this by the ever more aggressive voice of the cop, who had just barged through the main entrance.
“But I… they were…”, he attempted.
He was once again cut off by another agitated shout. Slowly, he jerked his hand and released his grip, as the weapon his the ground with a soft ‘thud’. All sorts of thoughts began to flood Aaron’s mind. He was covered in blood. He’d been discovered at the rear exit with a gun. There were no witnesses. And, more worryingly, 4 dead bodies lay in the room behind him, one of which had no signs of looking like one of the original robbers in the first place, having neither a balaclava nor a gun. Aaron also noticed, as he stared silently at his feet, the bag of money which had been dropped. It didn’t look too good at all. It certainly wasn’t his lucky day.
*****
“You were discovered by the arresting officers with a weapon in your hands, covered in blood, and three dead bodies lay around you. You were quite literally caught red handed, and this effectively plays a major role in my decision. Due to past run-ins with the law and your continuing to offend, but more so, the apparent ferocity with which you committed these heinous crimes, I sentence you, sir, to life imprisonment, and I deny the right of parole!”
This was the verdict given.
Any comments and so forth welcome. So, erm. Groovy.
“You were discovered by the arresting officers with a weapon in your hands, covered in blood, and three dead bodies lay around you. You were quite literally caught red handed, and this effectively plays a major role in my decision. Due to past run-ins with the law and your continuing to offend, but more so, the apparent ferocity with which you committed these heinous crimes, I sentence you, sir, to life imprisonment, and I deny the right of parole!”
The old, wrinkle faced high-court judge slammed his gavel down onto his desk to define his statement, as there was an uproar in the court.
Aaron Smith’s hands began to twitch as his face began to sweat. He hadn’t trembled so much for many years now, age bringing him more control over this life long nervous reaction of his. But now, he could control it no more. He sat anxiously, telling his lawyer, over and over, “Bu… but I didn’t do it! I had nothing at all to do with it, you gotta believe me! Please!”
But his efforts became more and more futile as the smartly suited legal representative gathered his documents, closed his briefcase, and began to leave.
“I’m sorry, I really am. But there’s nothing more I can do.”
He sounded as if he were sorrier at the fact he’d lost the case, and along with it, a bonus to attribute the victory. Aaron continued the pleading to nobody in particular, as his sorrowful cries echoed around the now near empty courtroom. Security guards approached him, and clasped his bright orange jumpsuit, raising him from his seat which he was slumped into, sobbing into his hands.
*****
Aaron Smith strode along Ealing Street, his slightly torn jeans clinging to his legs as the ever increasing wind battered against him. Grasping the collar of his worn out leather jacket, he ruffled it against his neck in an attempt to generate heat, while at the same time blocking the ferocious gale. He dodged an old, rusty ladder that rather annoyingly blocking the narrow pavement, forcing him to shimmy out onto the road for a moment. As he continued towards the bank, excited by the rather large sum of money he’d gratefully received by an “unofficial” employer, he glanced skywards, wondering if the rain would hold for much longer. There were great billowing grey clouds above, and the evening darkness would be drawing in soon, so he had to hurry.
He soon arrived outside the great, but somewhat discoloured marble pillars of the bank. It was a recent relocation of his precious branch which had caused him to walk that extra distance to get here. It didn’t bother him much – it would at least keep him the slightest bit fitter. And besides, the new tellers here just had to be better than the miserable lot he’d grown accustomed to.
As he approached the automatic doors of the large building, he glanced to his left. Standing there was a black cat – saturated with the rain that had begun so heavily. He heard what seemed to be the cat hissing at him, attempting to dissuade him from entering. He paused momentarily in bemusement at this. Slightly spooked though, he continued onward into the bank and towards the main queue that later split off onto different cashiers. The place was relatively empty, and a coolness lingered in the air. An automated, robotic voice informed him he should go to cashier 13. Ladders, black cats, the number 13? He half expected the cashier to be named Lucifer, as he strolled towards the far side of the bank.
“Ah, Dave. No such luck”, he jokingly thought to himself. As he prepared to greet the bank clerk, an ear-piercing screech was heard from outside. Aaron spied a dark grey van through the tinted glass of the automatic doors. As he screwed up his face in bewilderment, wondering what was going on, the rear doors swung open with an aggressive force, and four men leapt out. The odd couple of people that had spotted the darkly clothed, masked men were beginning to panic. Aaron’s right hand began to twitch slightly, and he swung his left hand cross his body to control.
As the intruders waltzed through the doors, with such precise motion and deliberateness that it seemed this was a routine they’d prepared. The taller of the men, and the first to enter the building, began to flail a pistol around, which, to him it seemed, was universally known as “Get down or I’ll shoot you all”. The occupants of the bank seemed to get the general idea, or at least, they’d seen enough American action movies to understand what he meant. He cautiously, but swiftly scanned the room for any form of security camera. There only seemed to be one, and at the moment, it seemed to be facing no particular direction at all. No particular useful direction at least – the wall mount seemingly stretched to its limits to accommodate the camera being turned to look at the ceiling. The gunman shot it out anyway – most likely a precaution, in case, perhaps, the camera was automatic, and decided to swivel around with an electronic hum. The 3 men followed on.
The two immediately behind him were airing out navy, polyester-like bags, and the trailing man also seemed to have some kind of pistol, yet he entered with some kind of unseen aura that gave Aaron the impression he was running the show here.
As the occupants of the room were herded into a corner, – the corner were Aaron had been about to be served – the men with bags hurriedly moved towards separate cashiers, and commanded the bags be filled with money. Aaron watched as the smaller of the men waved the bag in front of an unflinching cashier. He took mental note of this – she merely continued to stare him in the eye as he barked commands. She slowly followed the orders, her hardened face only glimpsing down at what she was doing every now and then.
Aaron was almost used to this kind of situation. Long ago, he’d been a cop, but leaving on medical grounds. The twitching deeply affected him, mentally more than anything. He had felt useless with the force. The inability to hold a gun straight rendered him practically worthless in that field of work. He now dabbled in the darker of sides – the enemy whom he once fought. But none of this mattered now. All he knew was that if anybody was going to impede this robbery, it was going to be him. And hell, he wanted it done before the law appeared. It’d be likely that they’d question witnesses and so on, and that was exactly the kind of attention he didn’t want police to be offering him – not now. If he was lucky, he’d end up with some kind of sum of money at the end of all this.
Time began to pass, the outside world seemingly unaware of the commotion inside. The shorter, stockier of men with a gun turned to face the van outside, and nodded. Again, there was a screeching, as the van roared off. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight in these parts – the drivers weren’t the most orderly here. Parking haphazardly on the street was becoming more and more common.
A precious chance was given – the robbers, a little distracted by the sudden outburst of noise by the van, simultaneously glanced outside. The hard-faced cashier took her chance. With, from Aarons view, a quick jolt of her arm seemed to press some kind of button. Aaron could only guess. The men possessing the bags regained concentration, keeping a hawk-like eye on the cashiers they were intimidating. A man, roughly 40 Aaron estimated, seemed to be boiling underneath - a temper looked to be building. The first gunman who entered the bank had been patrolling back and forth across the huddled group of hostages. As the gunman passed the middle-aged man, he attempted to take matters into his own hands. He skilfully and agilely pounced on the gunman. The gunman who seemed to be leading this whole incident, who had been admiring a motivational picture on the wall, spun on his heels as he heard the grunts of the two struggling men. The concentration in his mind was clear – his narrowing eyes visible through the slits in his balaclava.
With no hesitation whatsoever, he raised his weapon solidly to eye level and paused for a moment. Uncertainty seemed to kick in. Aaron took this chance: it was his only chance. He sprawled himself at the two in an attempt to knock them from the gunman’s line of sight. A deafening ‘crack’ was heard, as the trio of men slumped to the ground, and a flurry of shouts and screams succeeded the weapons noise. A red puddle became visible, and began to soak the cream coloured carpet of the bank. Someone had been hit by the bullet. Taking the opportunity themselves, the other hostages began to rush past the firing gunman for the exit, as he slowly approached the 3, and set his eyes upon a masked man, who lay writhing on the floor. His stunned face gazed upon him; it was clear he hadn’t intended to kill someone before. Whether to run, or to try and save his life. Whether to save his own skin, or to take the morally just action.
One of the men who’d been filling the bags, and had by now been battling with the rear fire exit in an attempt to get it open, had only now realised what was going on. After eventually kicking the heavy open, he gradually made his way across the room to the others. He looked downward, dumbstruck by what he saw.
“Wh…what the hell… did you do to him?!”, he whimpered, trying to turn it into a shout. “Now you’ve got a murder on your conscience too!”, he continued, refraining from lunging upon him.
“I…I…”, he stammered, “I didn’t… mean to shoot him, I just…”. His voice trailed off, as he continued to just stare down at the, by now, peacefully still body.
“He’s my brother for Christ’s sake!” he bawled, no practically reduced to tears.
He fell to his knees, dropping the cloth bag to the ground. He removed the balaclava from the dead mans head to reveal the face of his fallen brother. He had to see it one last time.
Sirens came into earshot as the group of men remained silent. Aaron had only just noticed the disappearance of the man who’d caused the death, but allowed the escape of the hostages. He pondered over whether he had carefully escaped, allowing the robbers to get on with it. Or whether he’d feared for his life, as he and Aaron were the only remaining witnesses, besides the cashiers.
The thought of failure and defeat began to sink into the leaders mind. He almost admitted to himself the fact they’d been compromised, and that the whole thing had gone wrong. With a new desire to get out of here without being caught, he whirled round, fixing his sights on the cashier area. With the new desire to escape seemed to come the unknowing of fear and consequences, as he once again raised his weapon in the direction of the cashiers, and unloaded the magazine in a flurry of repetitive shots, killing the remaining three. Aaron had remained alive – for now – and he had no idea why or how. He’d decided against any kind of action that’d bring the men’s attentions to him once again.
“Will you guys hurry the hell up?!”, yelled the other robber, clutching a filled bag as he stood at the rear exit.
“We ain’t just gonna leave him here, are we? We can’t!” said the brother of the dead man, perplexed at how his fellow raider could think of such heartlessness.
“We have to, c’mon, lets go!”
Reluctantly, still clutching the balaclava of his brother, he began to run towards the exit, accompanied by the leader. In all the commotion, it seemed, they’d forgotten about Aaron. He couldn’t believe it. Glancing down towards the floor, he spotted a gleaming metallic object, edging out from underneath the corpse. Without hesitation, he lifted the man enough to retrieve the weapon, and decided to pursue the men. As he checked the chamber of the weapon, which, from years experience took him no time at all, the rough, crisp and distinctive sound of a diesel engine came into hearing. He jogged over towards the rear door, just as the men were piling into the vehicle. He raised the gun, and quickly fired off a volley of shots – all hitting his target, despite his heavily wavering hand – but this failed to impede them in the slightest.
“You there! Freeze! Drop the weapon!”, came a yell from behind him. “I will not ask you again! Drop the weapon!”
Aaron began to turn, only to be denied this by the ever more aggressive voice of the cop, who had just barged through the main entrance.
“But I… they were…”, he attempted.
He was once again cut off by another agitated shout. Slowly, he jerked his hand and released his grip, as the weapon his the ground with a soft ‘thud’. All sorts of thoughts began to flood Aaron’s mind. He was covered in blood. He’d been discovered at the rear exit with a gun. There were no witnesses. And, more worryingly, 4 dead bodies lay in the room behind him, one of which had no signs of looking like one of the original robbers in the first place, having neither a balaclava nor a gun. Aaron also noticed, as he stared silently at his feet, the bag of money which had been dropped. It didn’t look too good at all. It certainly wasn’t his lucky day.
*****
“You were discovered by the arresting officers with a weapon in your hands, covered in blood, and three dead bodies lay around you. You were quite literally caught red handed, and this effectively plays a major role in my decision. Due to past run-ins with the law and your continuing to offend, but more so, the apparent ferocity with which you committed these heinous crimes, I sentence you, sir, to life imprisonment, and I deny the right of parole!”
This was the verdict given.
Page:
Wow.
Look at this.
[URL]http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/display_messages.php?threadid=96316&forumid=4006[/URL]
Look at this.
[URL]http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/display_messages.php?threadid=96316&forumid=4006[/URL]
I hope you all realise you're hurting me.
Hurting me bad.
:-(
Hurting me bad.
:-(
Read it, you homos.
I mean, lovely, lovely people.
...
I mean, lovely, lovely people.
...
Pahop.
RoJ wrote:
> i don't particulary want to talk about it here...
hur hur hur
*ahem*
> i don't particulary want to talk about it here...
hur hur hur
*ahem*
Got MSN? i don't particulary want to talk about it here...
I am [email protected]
I am [email protected]
What did you do, you silly begger?
L'Azul wrote:
> Aaron Smith strode along Ealing Street,
I live there...
Ok, not exactly Ealing Street. But in Ealing.
> Aaron Smith strode along Ealing Street,
I live there...
Ok, not exactly Ealing Street. But in Ealing.
Aye.
RoJ wrote:
> My hands are sore because they is burnt
Hence your tagline?
> My hands are sore because they is burnt
Hence your tagline?
Page: