.





In the twitch of a finger the woman's face turns into something that was not.

Screams...confusion...gunsmoke...blood-brain-death-smell... Swearing from Paulie, the other man in a mask.

"Fucking hell Johnno, are you mad?"

No reply. Johnno stares at the place where a face used to be. The sawn-off double-barrel shotgun drops from limp fingers that only needed to twitch once.

"Jesus man!" Paulie runs over with his bag of goodies.

"Get outta the way!" Johnno is shoved aside and stumbles. Thankfully, the once-woman is now out of sight. He looks dumbly at Paulie who shoves more cash into the bag from this register before also picking up the gun, (the murder-weapon - already Johnno's mind aflame - what has he done?) and then roughly picking up Johnno.

Survival instincts kick in. Scramblescramble out the door around the corner "In the car quick!" Money thrown in through back window Johnno thrown in through back window Paulie jumps in the front as Matt slams the gas.

More swearing from Paulie. Johnno oblivious. Speedy chatter in front - Matt and Paulie looking back in disbelief. Johnno looks at his hands in disbelief.

"What the fuck was that back there you fucking dick? Are you fucking mad you cunt?"

"That... was my sister."

Silence. Quick way to shut anyone up "hey I just shot my sister". Then more swearing, but muttered swearing - disbelief - uncertainty.

Paulie swings around in his seat to face Johnno directly.

"Are you being serious mate, because that is not fucking funny."

"She recognised me."

"Whadd'ya mean? You're wearing a ski-mask!"

Ski-mask. Johnno remembers and roughs it off. Sees blood on his hand - not his. Blood on mask. Specks on his shirt too. Hello Mary.

"My voice. She knew my voice. I could see it."

"And so you fucking shot her? Christ man, she's your sister!"

"Yeh, but she's a friggin happy-clapper - a religious wacko - you get it? She would've ratted me in for sure. Then we'd all be fucked. What was I supposed to fucking do Paulie? What'd you do if you were looking straight into the eyes of a jail sentence?"

"Fuck me, Johnno, I dunno what I'd do. But I don't think I'd shoot my fucking sister mate."

"Shit on me you cunt! D'you think I wanted to? That I liked it? Fucking christ almighty. I hadn't seen her for years. I had no fucking idea she even worked in banks, let alone lived in that shitty town. Fuck."

More silence. Only sounds are howling engine and gravel scrapes as Matt tears through corners and back-tracks that were mapped out in days previous. No-one could find them. The perfect crime. Except for...

More silence and brooding boy-men. Who'd've thought a bit of excitement and some quick cash would end in murder?

And now Johnno feels something strange. He is not used to the emotion Remorse, but he's getting it in spades. Other feelings too. Up and down his back, he feels cold shivers, almost like a bony hand stroking his spine. His head begins to throb. Wooh-wooh-wooh... sub-woofer resonations of bass-suffering devil drumbeats relentless waves of brain pain.

Groans. Like drugs but bad ones. Johnno has had some bad drugs in his time but they were nothing. Gotta stop make it stop stop gotta make it - pins'n'needles from toes to head cold shivers of something - what is it? - stop stop make it stop - pins'n'poison daggers stabbing all over stabbing deep and deeper gut wrenches heaves and shudders vomit coming vomit coming vomit comes...

In a perfectly natural reaction Johnno grabs the nearest container and spewspewspews his almighty knot of pain away. Bliss could describe his relief but can a devil feel bliss? Perhaps it can. Eyes closed and gentle relieving tears run down his nose the world is dark and pain-free for a little while. Only a little little while.

"You are fucking joking me!" Disgust-disbelief-dismay, Paulie is not happy, "Johnno you cunt, you're spewing in the cash-bag you fucking moronic cunt!"

Reality kicks in and Johnno opens eyes to an unfortunate mistake.

"Jesus man, get it out get it out!"

Struggle and humiliation, Johnno grabs at wads of dollars covered in muck and throws them down. "Should've spewed on the floor" a voice in his head cackling, scoopscoop splatter wads of cash - BANG!

Johnno's twitchy finger once again. The unfired round of a spew-hidden sawn-off is released.

If this was a movie, the action would go into super-slow-motion. 360 degrees of revelation would allow the audience to absorb the chaos: Paulie's contemptuous snarling lips, Matt's hunched shoulders and steely concentration, trees whizzing past yet appearing tantalisingly close to frozen, sweat-spit-tears racing from Johnno's face to the ground at a snail's pace... and a deadly shower of powder and metal exploding in his hands.

This was not a movie. Before the idea had even spawned more swearing tyres squeal scream and THUD - glass pops and sprays inwards car jolts shudders and the world turns upside down upside up upside down upside up and stops.

Silence. This time, an artificial silence. Head ringing from shotgun blast and collision with unidentified car obstacles. Silence. Shock. Darkness...

Not perpetual darkness, not yet. Johnno awakes. How long was I out doctor? Not long. Rest... Rest... Rest... Johnno awakes from neverland - suddenly there is pain. No, that is not enough. Suddenly there is Pain. And there is Paulie, leaning over his front seat.

"Paulie... man, you ok? Fuck, what happened?"

Scrabblescrabblescrabble.

"Paulie?" Mouth dry. Tongue thick. Talking not fun. Being conscious is agony.

"Johnno, you dirty fucker. Not only did you have to spew on the cash, now you're bleeding all over it. God, look at this shit!"

Paulie leans further. Scrabblescrabble. Straightens up, stuffs pockets, leans again. Johnno looks down, tries to look down. Neck is pain. Arm is pain. Legs are pain. Without moving neck, Johnno looks down as best he can, then wishes not to. Legs are more than pain. Ugly. Messy. Paulie bumps one of his once-legs in his scrabbling. Screams. Ungodly screams.

"Fuck up you whinging prick! You think I wanted this? Fuck, what a fuck up. Don't you fucking blame me for this. You'd be doing this too, if it was opposite. Jesus fuck me."

"Paulie... you can't leave me here. We're mates, partners, we're -"

"I told you to fuck up you fucking cunt!" Slams a raging fist down onto shattered leg. Screams - more than screams - every fibre of body-mind-soul screaming. Sometimes unconsciousness is the greatest gift.


**********


Groans. Unsconsciousness leaves, pain returns. Ache-agony-bodyfire. Eyes wince open to darkness am I blind Jesus am I blind? the darkness of night seeps into his mind. Crickets creak. A soft wind rustles trees and nothing else but silence. Neck is frozen legs arm frozen. Looking only with eyes, Paulie is gone. Matt is slumped against the shattered window frame, silent and still as death.

Crickets creak. Wind rustles. Wind rustles. Wind rustles. Johnno's mind wanders. Little control. Little mind left to control.

Sister Mary. This is all your fault, god damn it, why work there, why work in a shitty bank in a shitty town? Fucking god-loving happy-clapper would've ratted me to the cops. Killed yourself little Mary. Big sister little Mary.

Remorse comes back in spades. Pictures of Mary - how many times did she bail him out? He wasn't the most well-behaved of boys... Ha! How many times? She was his guardian angel, when they were kids. There was that time at Church, sitting amongst the Lobotomites, bored shitless. Excitement was helping himself to the collection plate - what a buzz that was! Boy, was he going to cop it though, when the Higher Powers found out. And Mary somehow talked them out of nailing him to the cross. A thousand Hail Marys that night! God, she was the nicest girl, didn't deserve anything bad. Why does bad stuff happen to good people? Why does good stuff happen to bad? What did I do? Oh God, help me! Mary! Help me! God I need you, I need you Mary so bad. Got myself in a fix, you bail me out ok? Tell mum and dad it not my fault. Not me. Accident. Unluck. Mary...

Wind rustles. Wind rustles. Wind rustles.

"Johnno..." From the front seat, Matt.

"Johnno..." Harsh throat. Croak. Cricket-talk. Wind-speak.

"Johnno..."

"Matt! Oh Jeeesus Matt, we're no good mate. Real bad."

"Johnno..."

"Oh mate. I screwed up big time. I owe you bad. Fuck, have I fucked up! Oh mate..."

"Johnno..."

Mind races. Need a plan. Need an oasis in the desert of pain.

"Matt, how bad are you? Can you drive? Is the car gonna start? I... I'm in a bad way mate. I can't walk. If the car don't start I'm screwed. Screwed big time."

"Johnno..."

Frustration. Leans forward - body-mind-soul screams in pain but teeth clenched. Grating-grinding in felt-unseen places horrible almost comical so much wreckage in one unit how can it go on? Horrible grinding as Johnno leans forward - one remaining good arm grabs Matt's shirt and pulls him close.

Teeth unclench Johnno screams. Utmost terror horror like never.

Matt no face no face no face Matt no face no face Matt.

"Johnno... you killed me bro'."

Matt cold no face no breath no blood left no life how the fuck is he talking maybe I'm dead too maybe this is hell how the fuck is he talking no more whispers from the dead man the oasis of a friend also now a mirage.

Fresh tears from Johnno who squeezes eyes shut - if only he could close his mind to the sight - the sights - the horrible screaming images of faceless people who were faces and friends to him. If only the gun was loaded - but one two bang bang means no more no change no refund no rainchecks no bullets left to close his mind to the horrible screaming images.

Crickets creak and wind rustles. Wind rustles. Wind rustles. Still hearing the voice in the trees... You killed me... You killed me... You killed me... The lullaby beckons him to sleep once more, once more before the final sleep.


**********


Birds now. Crickets dead, or sleeping. Scared to death maybe, by screeching birds. Fingernail-blackboard-blackthoughts screeching birds is a fitting song to the final day. Opening eyes is much harder this time. Weights - lead weights dragging down. Slowly open then close then open struggle like Prometheus to lift head and spit in the eye of vultures. Lead weight eyelids sandpaper eyes horrible hornet nest brain full of angry buzzing agony.

Eyes open to grayness I am not blind I wish my mind was blind I cannot see only death to grayness of dawn eyes open. Birds screech. Pain is no longer a word.

Morbid curiousity. It is said to kill cats, on occasion. Looks down with eyes, strains to understand the mess of once-legs. Not human. I am no longer human... I am not human... Maybe never was human... Does that mean I have not lived..? Will not die..? Petty mind-wanderings. Death is coming soon. Can feel it. Cold shudders, the icy bone-hand strokes his spine lovingly, caringly caresses, a lover's idle patience, Death waiting for him to die. Oh God, please let me die... Please kill me... Oh God, Mary, please help me! Please... I need you...

"Hey Johnny" a giggled whisper, somewhere behind, above behind his ear.

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny" an amused sigh, a loving-knowing sigh.

"Mary..?" Voice so hoarse now, no words left. No mind left. Sanity exit stage left.

"Mary..?"

"Shhhh. I'm here. It's ok. Boy, are you in trouble."

Groan-sob-moan-shake

"Oh Johnny, I'm always doing this for you. One day I won't be there, and then what? Who's going to explain you out of trouble when I'm gone? Who's going to take your side?"

"Mary... Mary..." Body shaking voice croaking death rattle "Mary... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

"Shhh shhh. It's allright. Stop crying. You don't need to apologise to me. Mum and dad will be mad, but not forever. They love you, you know. And God will always forgive you."

"Mary... Do you forgive me?"

"Don't be silly. Hush now. Remember, if you can forgive yourself, everyone will forgive you in time. The first step is the hardest. Forgiveness is in your hands, Johnny. In your hands."

Then silence. Silence and sobbing. Sobbing and silence. Forgiveness in his hands. Only one hand working. Forgiveness in his hand. Forgiveness? Forgiveness is a mirage! Clenches his hand. Won't close. Something stops. The shotgun in his hand. Where from? Don't know. The gun? Not a gun. No bullets makes gun useless wood and steel. Useless wood and steel in hand.

Lifts it up. But wait! Where from? From where? Not useless wood and steel. Bullets. Where from? From where? The icy bone-hand strokes his spine, and squeezes. Not so loving? No matter. Was this, finally, his oasis? Forgiveness in his hands, in his one good hand. His one good-bad hand that already took away two faces. Now a third.

John suddenly realised it was not so hard to forgive himself after all.






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