“Are you shitting me?”
“You don’t like the price, don’t buy it.”
“I can get this film for ten bucks on the other side of town!”
“Then get your ass over there! If you really want to drive to the other side of town then be my guest, mind you, you won’t get far without your car,” the clerk behind the counter replies, placing the film on the shelf.
“Holy crap, Tom, some kids are stealing our van!” Rick shouted.
“What!? Call the cops!” I tell the clerk.
I take off through the doors and into the street, sliding on the concrete, wet from the recent storm. It doesn’t rain much here, here in the City of God. Rick follows behind me as we reach the news van.
Two teens stand outside the van. A kid no older then ten sits in the driver’s seat, trying to hotwire it. The two teens turn to us as we arrive.
“Get the Fuck away from our van!” Rick shouts.
The two teens pull guns from their shirts and stand facing us. The sun shines across the barrel, glittering darkly in the light.
“This is our car now, friend,” the first teen whispers.
“Don’t try it kid,” Rick replies drawing his own weapon.
Rick can be a bit eccentric at times, even for a reporter.
“Rick, don’t do anything rash.”
“Tom, these little fuckers are stealing our van!”
“Our lives are more important then a van!”
“Listen to you friend,” the second teen says, “he’s a smart guy.”
“Fuck off. Don’t push me kid.”
“Rick, put down the gun,” I whisper.
He stands his ground.
“Rick put the gun down!”
Rick shakes his head and lets the gun drop to the dirt below. I look along the side of the truck and notice the glock tucked in the ten year old’s pants. The world’s gone insane. I can hear sirens crying through the air.
“You hear that, kids?” I ask the teens, “that’s the sound of execution. I suggest that if you plan to steal our car, you get a move on.”
“Hey up yours, man!” the first teen replies.
“Goose, you got the car ready?”
“Almost!” the ten year old replies.
The van lights up and the engine roars. The two teens get in front while the ten year old scrambles in back. The van takes off down the street, kicking up dust.
“You shouldn’t have stopped me.”
“Rick, they would’ve killed us both. Even the little kid had a gun.”
“Everyone has a gun, everyone in this whole fucked up place,” Rick replies, shaking his head, “won’t matter anyways, the cops will get ‘em.”
He’s right, the cops in this town are as ruthless as the criminals. Up ahead two rusty police cruisers swerve out of an alleyway in front of the van. The cops stop and open fire on the approaching van. It swerves off the road and hits a fence. People stop to watch, no longer affected by the threat of death’s black hand.
One of the teens steps out and starts to run. He’s quickly gunned down. A cop runs up and fires a round into his brain. On the other side of the van a cop opens the driver’s side door. The other teen’s body falls out. Two more men begin to make their way around the back of the van.
“Oh no,” I whisper.
“They’re gonna kill the kid.”
“So what? He’s a criminal.”
“But he’s a fucking kid!”
I start to run towards the van, my legs pumping at full speed, my lungs burning. I undo the straps of the camera on my back, letting it fall to the ground.
“Stop!” I scream as the little kid is pulled from the back of the van.
The cops throw the kid against the fence and raise their guns for his execution.
The cops fire and the kid falls, slowly sliding down the fence, dead. I fall to my knees and beat my fists in the ground, screaming and pulling my hair. Sobs rack my body. I hear Rick stop at my side.
“You broke the camera, Tom, for Christ’s sake.”
The cops approach us, backing up the van.
“Here’s your van, sir. I apologize for the damage to the windshield, and the stains.”
“It’s no problem,” Rick replies, taking the keys and throwing the camera in back, “come on Tom, we gotta get that film.”
I wipe my eyes and shake my head, standing up. I pull open the door and look away at from the blood on the seat. Rick puts the car in drive and does a u-turn. As we head towards the store I glance at the fence where the little boy lies, his eyes wide and blank.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“You say something?”
This place is my heaven. This place is my hell. Here I live, an American reporter, in Rio De Jinero, the City of God. I ask myself, can I stop this madness? I can’t. I know that. Only a miracle can. And I think, what better place for a miracle, then the City of God?
The van roars down the street, the cops and the bodies fading from sight.
| good story keep writing the story was awesome im a reader/writer so i know||| Posted on 2006-10-11 00:00:00 | by Cara R.D | [ Reply to This ] |