Lucky Rock

A security guard is caught in a difficult situation.

I pushed my fingers through the change and keys and found it there smooth and round and flattened. I took it between my finger and thumb and slid my thumb across it. It stayed there in my pocket all day. It was the same as a wallet, keys or money. It belonged and if it were missing, I would know and feel a little off. It had been there so long. It was with me the first time I peddled a bike. It crossed the goal line when I scored my first touchdown. It was a weight pulling me down while I learned how to swim but it was necessary and it glided with me across the pool. It held me down when Sara Jean Wilson gave me a kiss. And it knew my sins and was there in times of excellence. I called it Lucky.

I polished it daily with my thumb, thinking that it might be smoother and shine more. And today was like any other day except for him and his pistol. I was frozen there on open ground polishing my rock with my thumb. He yelled again. My muscles twitched and time slowed. I could hear my heart and the bag of chips that the cashier knocked off of the shelf. I felt it move the air and heard it fall then the crunch and scraping together of chips as it smashed against the floor. My body flexed again. “Put your gun on the floor or I'll blow her brains out.” My gun was in it's holster. My body twitched again. I polished my stone.

“Never give up your weapon. If you give up your weapon you only make the situation worse. Your weapon is the only thing that limits the subjects control. If you give up your weapon then there is nothing to stop him from killing anyone he wants to.” I could see her there standing in front of the class as she spoke and she spoke with authority and experience. It was an opinion easily trusted. I thought of giving it up. You see, I didn't take this job to be shot or to shoot someone and if I laid the gun on the tile he might just take the money and leave. Why would he do anything else? Or he might decide to shoot me. Why not? I got in his way and by the looks of him he's angry enough.

“You've got three seconds. Put your gun on the floor or she's dead.” I looked at her. Her body was pulled tight to his and the barrel of his weapon pushed against her neck tilting her head to the side, her lips drawn tight together, her nostrils flared, her eyelids wide open. I rubbed my stone and for an instant thought to take the weapon and place it on the floor but the stone was in my hand. I could feel the heat building up on my skin and the sweat beads cooling my forehead. “Now, or I'll splatter her brains on the wall.” I thought, there's no wall. Her brains would be all over the register and the shelf filled with chips and candy and batteries. I saw his thumb move up and pull the hammer back. The click echoed through the store. “Ok, ok, I'll do it.” Never give up your weapon, never. It will only make the situation worse.

Seconds became hours and there I am riding my bicycle for the first time, wobbling down the street with an excited grin on my face. Then I'm with Sara in the dark side room at the birthday party and we kiss. I'm catching the football and falling to the ground. My best friend cracks me in the face with his fist. I'm running fast and the wind is blowing my hair. I throw a rock from fifty yards and hit a threatening dog between the eyes. It yelps and runs away.

I c**k my right arm and flex and twist my body, stretching my arm and spinning the stone off of my index finger. There was no decision. In an instant it was gone. I saw it glide through the air jumping from frame to frame until it reached it's target, the wrong target. It hit he girl in the center of her forehead. She yelped and collapsed like a sack of potatoes. The guy with the gun was left pulling at her shirt as she crumbled to the floor. I drew my weapon and pointed it toward him. He ducked behind the counter and scurried like a squirrel between the aisles and shelves until he found the door.

I've killed her I thought as I holstered my weapon and walked toward the counter. She lay there crumpled against the shelf with a line of red painted across her face. She was breathing.

The police came and the ambulance. Two officers questioned me and started laughing. Soon the entire staff of the store was gathered around me grinning and commenting to each other. My face was hot and red and I turned and stared out of the front window. Through his laughing face one officer asked, “Are you sure it was your lucky rock? You think maybe you might have thrown your unlucky one?” Everyone burst into laughter, slapping backs and bending over. My face turned red. I stepped forward and felt it under my right foot. I bent over and pretended to tie my shoe. I pulled it from under my shoe with my finger. I stood up and stroked it with my thumb.

Reviews

[Frank Miles]

You can make a moment live in details, my friend. And you chose a wonderful moment here. Oddly, I just put up my own parallel moment and was not expecting to find something here that spoke so similarly about split second choices and life and death.

I feel like I must have known you from somewhere. And that's one of the biggest compliments I think I can give to your writing. You really do let yourself be known very fully.

Thanks again.

[busterlee]

I started posting again just a few days ago and you were the first person to review my new writing, I was your first friend on this site. I believe in coincidence and chance but sometimes I wonder. Thank you for your review. I"ll try to come up with something else worth your time.

[Frank Miles]

I look forward to your next piece. :-)

[Richard Charles]

I thought this moved along very well and held my interest throughout. Felt very real and I agree with Shannon, the flow was really good. Nice touch with the ending.

[busterlee]

Thanks Richard. A lot of this story came from actual experience.

[Shannon]

I love both the simplicity and the unusual situation, complete with humorous conclusion.

I might suggest really considering your use of the word 'and', they start to feel excessive to me.

The flow works, as does the internal dialogue, which can be hard to centre a piece around.

[busterlee]

Thanks Shannon.