Vending Machine Lunch
Page 16
Jevaun moaned in pain and his face felt the power of Jeremy's unstoppable force meet the immovable object. His nose crunched inwards, instantly streaming out jugs full of his blood. Jeremy fell backwards as the impact happened, landing on more bits of broken technology. Scrabbling back up, bitter hatred still burning in his head, he dragged Jevaun to his knees by his t-shirt again.
“You’re pathetic,” Jeremy seethed as he groaned, obviously rather dazed, “I hope-“
He smashed Jevaun's face against the wall, red blood that oddly reminded him of blackcurrant juice exploded from his face.
“-you-“
Smash.
“-burn-“
Smash.
“-in-“
Smash.
“-hell!” Jeremy yelled, his eyes stinging, blood down his t-shirt, feeling somewhat satisfied but enraged at the same time. He breathed for the first time in a long time. The air smelled sweet. He blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek.
Jevaun was on the floor, blood pouring from his mangled face, letting out slow and painful moans. Jeremy had only broken his nose. He wanted to do so much more to the guy, he wanted him to feel some pain. He wanted him to feel what life was really like. He wanted him to grow up and stop being a self-satisfying fool. He wanted him just to be normal and get on in life without being a total moron because the rules don’t quite live up to his spoilt expectations.
Still breathing hard, Jeremy looked down at Jevaun. He was still moaning on the floor, attempting to roll over onto his back.
“That’s enough,” said Jade, looking down upon Jevaun tearfully, “He hasn’t got the gun anymore, let him be.”
“Is it rubbish enough,” Jeremy said, suppressing back tears and breathing heavily. The world was spinning around him, he couldn’t quite believe what he'd just done. What he'd just managed to pull off, “It’s never enough. Not for him. Never. Ever. Ever. Enough.”
“You’ll be no better than him if you carry on,” said Jade, “Please, just stop it Jeremy. Let someone else deal with it.”
Overwhelming relief ran through his veins. He glanced at the black gun, still laid proudly on the floor; intimidating him with its shininess and its realness, inscribed on the side was the number '0110'. Jeremy had no idea what the relevance of the numbers were, but they gleamed at him, almost communicating to him. Despite the drama, the gun had managed to hold its own. It held its barrel high, proud of what it was. It didn’t care for anyone else, it achieved a certain class that no-one in the room would ever achieve.
As much as Jeremy tried, he could not hold his head high. He could not be proud. He could not achieve the class. Despite winning this certain battle, he collapsed against the wall and slid down it. The gravity and reality of the situation came down upon him like constellations. He'd been just as bad as him, despite being very nervous and panicking like a dog about to be put down, but still acting like he was in a movie. Not anymore. You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become one. Jeremy wasn’t a proud gun. Jeremy was a human being.
Now crouched against the wall, his hands to his face, Jeremy burst into tears.
“You can call the Enforcers now,” he muttered through tears.
The gun looked at him blankly, as though to ask what in the hell was wrong with him. Man up and grow a pair for goodness sake. Jevaun had made it onto his back, he was crying with the pain.
No-one could have said anything. And that’s why, everyone else remained silent.
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