Six: It was nine in the morning. It was way too early for man-slaughter.

Prompt: It was nine in the morning. It was way too early for man-slaughter.
From: NaNoWriMo's Adopt a Line Thread
Word Count: 508
Notes: I've been cursing a lot lately, and the following is no exception. I love the main character in this one, and the fact that I got to use her attitudalicious voice was completely awesome

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It was nine in the morning. It was way too early for man-slaughter. Not that Roscoe gave a rat's ass about it. He was shooting everybody, the bastard. Hadn't I specifically told him not to shoot anybody? The whole criminal thing is an act, Roscoe, just scare them and get the money. If they wanna act brave throw in a punch or something, the guns are all an act. Didn't I tell him that?!? Yeah, maybe the fact that the guns had bullets could be a little misleading, but they were only there if some bat shit insane cashier pulls a hand grenade or something. Then again, if that actually happened I'd be running out of that gas station like all of the demons in hell were flying after me.

Back to Roscoe, the homicidal maniac. It was a normal bust, one of the gas stations we try to hit every now and then, and I think something just kind of cracked in him. He started waving his gun, yelling all this stupid shit, and suddenly, BANG! There's a not-so-nice red stain on some poor dude's shirt. Damn unlucky cashier, shoulda been wearing a bullet proof vest with his profession. If they actually did, then I'd be way outta luck, so I guess it's kinda lucky they haven't learned yet.

So, anyway, here I am hiding behind the Cheetos, Dorritos, and Freetos, stuffing my face like some nervous gerbil thing. Let me tell you, salty goodness only goes so far when you are having the stress breakdown of your life. Roscoe's shooting up something, probably some poor, innocent customer who walked in like a total idiot.

"Hey, Simone." Roscoe says. I stop cramming chips into my mouth, and freeze. His voice sounds like one of those one's from the movies, the ones that are from crazy houses or are the slasher killers. "I wanna give you something, babe."

Probably something small and lead, I think, and I start crawling towards the refridgerators. Lord knows I need some Ben and Jerry's with these chips. A bullet ricochets off the tile next to me, and I turn around real fast.

"I found you." He says. His pupils are giant, and I'm thinking that Roscoe didn't crack, he just went a little overboard with the crack or something. I'm not much of a druggy, so I didn't know what he was on, but it sure wasn't my vices of choice: Alcohol and ice cream. "I'm gonna give you something real nice."

His fingers move to the trigger. I sigh and reach into my jacket.

BANG.

I put my gun back into my jacket, and reach into the fridge. I pull out some Cherry Garcia, and head towards the counter. I step over Roscoe's body, careful not to step into the blood that's pooling around his face from the shot that went straight through his forehead. I snatch the money out of the cash register, and flick off the security cameras.

Once outside, I walk off into the nearest alleyway. "Fucking Roscoe..."