Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

Felix Walker could not sleep. This was not due to a lack of trying-he had been tossing and turning between his sheets for hours, desperately searching for that sweet spot of comfort whose existence he was now starting to doubt. It had been this way his entire life.

            He gave up and dragged himself out of bed. Feet into slippers, he shuffled from his bedroom with a yawn. His insomnia did not make him immune to fatigue, but he had been living long enough to figure out how to run on fumes. He stretched away the memory of his sheets and opened a window so he could forget about their warmth.

            A cold breeze rolled in. It pushed against his back and cut through his t-shirt, so after he flicked on the lights he slipped on the nearest sweatshirt he could find. It was an old sentimental favorite, a ratty old grey thing with a big “H” emblazoned on the front.

            He moved to a mirror to inspect himself. The sweater had been in his possession since college, how well did it still fit? A wave of satisfaction washed over him when he saw that it hugged him the exact same way it had all those years ago.

            Unfortunately for him that was the only part of the reflection he was happy with. His hair was long and unkempt, and worked with the deep purple bags hanging under his eyes to create the caricature looking back at him. Before him was a man who made mothers cross the street with their children and people lie about having spare change; in short a straight up scumbag

            It wasn't something he could deny, as the title was undoubtedly his. He had earned it.

            The mirror had nothing more to offer him so he turned on his television. Before he could sit on the couch opposite the glowing screen he had to sweep away countless strips of green paper that were scattered all over the cushions. He sat down as a flurry of 20’s, 50’s, and 100’s settled around his feet.

            A good looking man in a suit came onto the screen, and a graphic featuring an old-fashioned revolver pointed at money bags appeared over his right shoulder. “Police are still searching for any information on the suspect in the recent string of bank robberies here in-“ The mute button made him continue on in silence.

            Of course it was him. The clues were there, the trail obvious enough for anyone with half a brain to figure out. Eventually. He knew his getting caught was an inevitability because he had made it so.

            Tomorrow was the big day. Some lucky officer, likely promoted to detective by now, had “stumbled” onto a clue that informed police of his next target. So far he had remained unnamed, so it was likely that they would just keep eyes on the place until something went down.

            The news anchor had been replaced by some obnoxious infomercial so he shut the T.V. off altogether. Now bored, he got up and took a stroll through his apartment. He navigated through the crowded hole in the wall with ease, like a dancer performing a favorite routine.

            There was only one path through his living space, so of course he knew it well. It was contained by two hip-high walls of what he now considered to be junk. Each piece had had its fifteen minutes, a million unique but ultimately temporary solutions to solve the problem of the inescapable boredom that had plagued him his entire life. Anything that fell into his hands was destined to be tossed aside eventually.

            He saw that he was near the most recent addition to the walls. It was an unremarkable wooden frame with the glass smashed in. Underneath the shards was an insignificant piece of paper that was supposed to mean a hell of a lot more than it did. The words on it declared him a graduate of Harvard Medical School, and the job he had gotten because of it was something he remembered fondly.

            Being a surgeon had been an interesting experience indeed. Human flesh had a different sort of look when split, an entry way instead of a barrier. The art of surgery itself was not challenging, as nothing ever was for him, which meant that his years of dedication had been a direct result of what the flesh was, something that needed fixing.

            He knew himself well enough to be aware of the fact that he had been born a problem-solver. He was made for the work; whatever challenge he had ever faced, whether the obstacle was physical or mental, had always been overcome with what he deemed to be ease. For a while, longer than anything else in his life anyways, patching up his fellow humans had held his interest.

            The constant stream of bloody messes that found their way to his E.R. was the nicotine in the cigarette of his career. He had been truly addicted; new problems hand delivered ranging everywhere from gunshot wounds to industrial accidents, each another puff. But it burned down as all things do eventually, and a week ago he had found himself tossing aside his title of trauma surgeon as he would a filter into the gutter.

            It was after that he had started to rob banks. At first glance it seemed ideal, another set of scenarios where every decision he made would be high impact. Which teller do you target? Choose wisely because if you pick a hero you lose sixty percent of your chance at escape. What’re the security guards going to do? He had purposely places with heavy security in the beginning, hitting only mom and pop banks, but as time wore on and his patterns became known the boys in blue became more and more of a factor. Sure, now he wanted to be caught, but if he cared about his freedom appropriately dealing with the security detail would figure in for thirty more percent.

            Ninety was all he gave himself, as he insisted on saving the last ten for emergencies only. A true, no other option last resort situation where he would pull out his gun and try to shoot his way to freedom. He was too smart to actually expect it to work, hell he hadn't even fired the revolver he had used in each of the robberies, but some part of him insisted that he’d be good with it just like he was with everything else. He truly felt that his contingency plan had at least a chance to succeed, based purely off of how skilled an individual he actually was. He hadn't killed yet, but figured he had saved enough lives for it to be justified, or something like that. He didn't really care anymore.

            The heists were rushes for a while, but money was only worth stealing if you had something to spend it on and the process to get it had become a chore. It was easy like everything else, but the one thing that made it unique among all the passions he had been privy to was its existence outside of the law. There was no going back after this.

            Thinking about what may or may not happen tomorrow stripped the energy from his being. He suddenly felt old, and very tired, so he slogged his way back through the path towards his bed. Felix Walker fell face down on the mattress and into a dreamless sleep.

**********

            He walked into the bank. It was a no-name branch in some town a certain distance away from the city where he used to live. The exact details had vacated his mind on the trip here. They didn't matter anymore.

            Security was suspiciously light as predicted. A lone guard stood to the side of the entrance opening and closing his palms to the rhythm of his slamming heart. Felix bet that the bobbing of the man’s Adam’s apple could be seen from anywhere within the room.

            His eyes ran across the tellers. The one closest to him was a woman of gratuitous size, whose stringy red hair was a ball of yarn on top of her head. The tangle wiggled precariously along with the rest of her body every time she made a move. Even her hands shook when she counted out bills; she was weak.

            For a moment he had to fight off the urge to approach her. To stroll up to her desk, mislead her with a smile, ask about her nail polish, flash his gun when she went to explain, take the money, and run. He had done it before; he knew how easy it could be.

            Afterwards is where his problem would come into play. The thought of the soul-crushing ennui he would be forced to confront mere seconds after the act was damp enough to put out that flame of desire. He looked at the other teller.

            Here was someone that would serve his purpose. His shirt was two sizes too small, and did a commendable job of magnifying the man’s already large biceps. Every time he budged the pushed the cheap fabric closer and closer to its limit. Felix thought he could hear the fibers stretching and crying out in pain, asking for someone, anyone to save them from their sadistic master.

            Throughout Felix’s brief time in the bank the man had bullied every customer that had shown the courage to come up to him. He talked in a loud and forceful manner that made even the most smile worthy pleasantry seem like a mean-spirited insult. Felix guessed that the man’s attitude came from his position at the bank; it was clear he was not good at his job. He was too slow counting the money and had to call the manager over for every transaction that Felix had witnessed. The man did nothing to hide the fact that he didn't want to be there, that he would do anything to get out.

            He was exactly what Felix needed. A hero waiting to happen.

            Felix got in line and patiently waited for his turn. He walked to the counter with a smile on his face. The man glared in return and said in a strained voice, “Can I help you, sir?”

            “I don’t really need you to, but I suppose it would speed things along if you did.”

            A confused look passed over the man’s face. “What?”

            “The events that are going to transpire over the next few moments are going to result in me leaving with a considerably large amount of money on my person. Unfortunately, I find myself without an account to this fine establishment, so I’ll just be taking whatever you have in your drawer there.”

            His hand had been creeping toward his gun since he had started speaking, and he pulled it out after his last word. He pointed it at the man first, then swung it around the room so that everyone could see. Body by body dropped as if they were shot from the fear of being shot. Even the security guard fell to the ground. Felix cleared his throat to speak.

            An impossibly loud bang forced his eyes closed. When he opened them he was surprised to find himself staring at the back of his own head. There was no sound except that of silence and everyone had stopped moving. He went to poke himself in the back but was stopped by some invisible barrier.

            “No touching, please.” The words came from behind him and he turned to face their source.

            Only one other person in the bank was capable of moving, a man of about average height dressed in a black hoody and a pair of jeans. A viciously toothed kitchen knife gripped in his left hand picked the dirt from under the fingernails of his right. The man’s face, though mostly hidden in the shadow of the hood, was familiar to the point of awareness and no further.

            Felix backed away as the man approached. “What’s going on here?”

            “You haven’t guessed yet?” A well-practiced laugh tumbled throughout the entire room from the man’s mouth, momentarily shattering the too-quiet silence. “The fact that you guys forget is always worth a chuckle. You’re dying.”

            He relaxed a little and stopped moving. “Oh is that all?”

            “Yeah that’s it. This journey of yours is coming to an end. You had a good run though. Fun to watch. You always are, you know.”

            “I didn't but I’m glad to see someone got enjoyment from my life. If you don’t mind me asking, what is it that killed me?”

            “Will kill you. As of right now time is paused and you live on. But technicalities aside, that big fella right there is responsible.” He pointed to the beast of a clerk.

            Felix walked around what used to be his body to get a full view of the scene. His own gun, still pointed towards the prone crowd, was no longer the only one in sight. While he had been busy intimidating the crowd, the man had pulled out a firearm of his own. The bullet he had fired was suspended in mid-air millimeters away from Felix’s head, stopped along with the rest of the world.

            “What was a teller doing with a gun?”

            “Dude was a cop. Didn't see that one coming did you?” Another laugh.

            “No, I guess I didn't.” Felix sighed and pushed his hair back from his face. “This all means that you’re Death, right? The Grim Reaper?”

            “I never really liked that second one. I’m not grim at all.” He smiled. “But yes, I am who you think I am.”

            “Where’s your big black robe? The scythe?”

            “I modernized like the rest of the world. The cloak was bulky and hard to maneuver in, but the scythe was ten times better than this.” He motioned towards the knife. “I might look different but it isn't all that bad. I’ll live.” His smile was starting to get old.

            “Of course you will. Can we get on our way? Up? Down? I don’t really care. Lead the way and I’ll follow.”

            A clipboard appeared in Death’s free hands. “Walker, Felix, Walker Felix, hmm…” His finger slid down the board and stopped near the bottom. “Ah, here you are. And the results are the same as always, not really sure why you expected anything different to be honest.”

            “Always? No, sorry, this is my first time dying.”

            “Sure it is.”

            “I think I would remember if I died before. It isn't something that one easily forgets.”

            “Not one, but a bunch. Souls are immortal, I know you’re at least aware of that. Those bodies that your kind are so fond of are nothing but gussied up vehicles to get the soul from point A to point B. From life to judgment, and sometimes the decision on where the soul ends up takes a little longer to make.

 Haven’t you ever wondered why you were so good at everything you do? Why it all comes so easy to you, as if you’re resolving an old maze whose path to the exit you’ve memorized long ago? Practice makes perfect my friend. You’ve died a million times and likely will a million more. Of course you’re going to be skilled when you have eternity to learn.”

“So what, Heaven and Hell aren't real?”

“Not in the sense that you mean. Every soul has its proper place in the afterlife, whether good or bad.”

“Except for me, apparently.”

“Not just you, of course. People like you. Sometimes it takes the great judge in the sky a little longer to figure out where you belong, ya know? You've done plenty of good s**t, like saving all those lives in the hospital, but plenty of bad as well, like robbing banks and making scary faces at small children when their mother’s aren't looking on public transportation.”

Felix looked down shamefully. “That was only one time.”

“Whether it was or wasn't, which by the way I know it wasn't, the fact remains that the jury is still out on you. Of course you die in a different manner every time but no matter how your life ends these words are always the same; you have another life to live.”

He sighed. “Do I have to?”

Death smiled. “Of course, you know the saying don’t you? There ain't no rest for the wicked.” Everything went black and somewhere far away a baby was born.

            

Reviews

[R. W. Graham]

I really enjoy the concept of this. I thought that it was an interesting twist on the "bored genius" idea. I noted a few grammatical errors, mostly having to do with punctuation that I would comb through to find. If you have someone who is a good beta, I'm sure they could find them and point them out for you.

The opening scene was an excellent way of blending setting and backstory, which isn't easily done in a short story. You had a lot of tidbits to throw in with a shorter word count, and you nailed it. Especially with a character like this, I was looking for an explanation of why he was the way that he was, and I was satisfied with the explanation here. I felt that he was fleshed out fairly well, and drives the story well. All too often I read the story of "he does bad stuff because he likes bad stuff," which is really linear, and the fact that you didn't fall into that trap really made this work shine and make me want to keep reading.

The pacing was decent, although at certain points it felt a little bit rushed, particularly at some points in the middle. I would also find a way to transition better between the scene of him at his house, and then when he is robbing the bank. It's a bit abrupt, and wording the beginning of the new scene to transition into the new time and setting would benefit it a lot. It would allow the reader to acclimate to it before you start getting into the meat of that scene, especially since it is really action heavy.

Furthermore, I recommend going through that second scene and trying to make what is going on a little more clear. The initial scene is very clear in what is going on around him, but the second scene seems to be more into the guy's head and neglects the setting and actions around him. Once again, I think you started strong with that, especially in describing the tellers (the description of the woman with the red hair was quite vivid), but as you got into the action it got a little shaky. I'm guessing maybe it's because you wanted to get into the meat, and I get that, it's just an area to clean up a bit.

In conclusion, I think that there are just some grammar issues and that you need to aim for some more consistency in pacing, description, and plot progression. You ideas are absolutely solid, and honestly, I'd like to read more about this guy. He's an intriguing character who I can only imagine the dynamics of in a much longer piece. Seriously, you should write a book about this dude, I love his character, and getting that attachment in such a short work isn't easy for a writer to do to a reader.

[Sonny Smarra]

Thanks for taking the time. I don't doubt there are a few grammatical errors, I don't usually have anyone read my work before I post so that makes sense. I'll fix them as soon as I find them.
The thing that is odd to me is that while you said it was rushed I felt it was too long. I am glad to see that you said that, because I really enjoyed writing this and wouldn't be opposed to expanding on it, so having the option to do more is something I am happy to have. Again, thanks for taking the time, I really appreciate it.