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expensive justice
"On your knees!"
These people look like cowardly cows as I yell. They look like city men, working an eight-hour job, yet they can't complain for their proper compensation, even if they're abused by their employers.
They impressively do what I say. There's so much power in my brown leather vest and camouflage print pants. Or maybe it's in my revolver gun they're afraid about; either way, this feeling is gold. I'm the king today.
I grabbed the man in his well-ironed suit and tie—the same man who was on the jury—and prepared a death sentence for my innocent wife.
Small world.
My young lady was accused of murdering his employer when God knows she was innocently framed. What else can the authority do other than believe in a planned setup?
Justice is expensive.
"I need all the money in this freaking store! Don't you dare call for help, or I will shoot this stupid man!"
And everyone screams like terrified owls, immobile and paralyzed on the floor. It was my rule! If I had done this before, maybe my lady could've been freed. We wouldn't be accomplices in the town's biggest crime. But we never used to be like that. We were exactly like you, living a practical life, expecting the orchids to bloom on the fourth month, witnessing the daughter's talent show, and eating pizza together.
I have been fighting for my wife's rights all my life. And what did this law do to her? She was killed by this man. And now my daughter is in the hospital.
"Life is funny, right?!"
Everyone's eyes are rolling, marked by permanent damage to their innocence. The same figure as my midlife trauma, and I may be grateful for doing it over and over again.
"The next thing you know, no one can afford to live in this world anymore."
I turn the gun on the counter lady in order to strengthen my laws.
"Give me the money, come on!"
She was hyponotized by the gun. She placed all the money in my huge travel bag; bills and coins shimmered in my sight. I smell it like freedom and justice.
"Hahaha! How can no one ever try this?"
Bang!
I pulled the trigger to the...
© ubik
These people look like cowardly cows as I yell. They look like city men, working an eight-hour job, yet they can't complain for their proper compensation, even if they're abused by their employers.
They impressively do what I say. There's so much power in my brown leather vest and camouflage print pants. Or maybe it's in my revolver gun they're afraid about; either way, this feeling is gold. I'm the king today.
I grabbed the man in his well-ironed suit and tie—the same man who was on the jury—and prepared a death sentence for my innocent wife.
Small world.
My young lady was accused of murdering his employer when God knows she was innocently framed. What else can the authority do other than believe in a planned setup?
Justice is expensive.
"I need all the money in this freaking store! Don't you dare call for help, or I will shoot this stupid man!"
And everyone screams like terrified owls, immobile and paralyzed on the floor. It was my rule! If I had done this before, maybe my lady could've been freed. We wouldn't be accomplices in the town's biggest crime. But we never used to be like that. We were exactly like you, living a practical life, expecting the orchids to bloom on the fourth month, witnessing the daughter's talent show, and eating pizza together.
I have been fighting for my wife's rights all my life. And what did this law do to her? She was killed by this man. And now my daughter is in the hospital.
"Life is funny, right?!"
Everyone's eyes are rolling, marked by permanent damage to their innocence. The same figure as my midlife trauma, and I may be grateful for doing it over and over again.
"The next thing you know, no one can afford to live in this world anymore."
I turn the gun on the counter lady in order to strengthen my laws.
"Give me the money, come on!"
She was hyponotized by the gun. She placed all the money in my huge travel bag; bills and coins shimmered in my sight. I smell it like freedom and justice.
"Hahaha! How can no one ever try this?"
Bang!
I pulled the trigger to the...
© ubik
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