Like Regular Coffee

Karl is on the loose. He’s shooting everybody who annoys him with his dad’s Glock 17 fitted with a silencer. He doesn’t wince.

He passed by a guy who looked him up and down with his eyebrows knotted and his mouth in an impatient line. Karl sidestepped, pulled out his gun from his pocket, and before the surprised stranger could utter a word of surprise, he was down on the ground, leaking blood.

No one saw what happened until three minutes later when a car drove along the street. The woman driving went hysterical, almost had a heart attack.

Meanwhile, Karl walked on.

He passed by people with cold stares, square blank faces, dreamy eyelids. He wanted to shoot every one of them but that would catch too much attention. It’s important to get as many annoying people down as he can, and that won’t happen if the police gets to him too early this bright Saturday morning.

There was a need to smoke.

He went inside a store. Karl didn’t miss the guard’s head turning 180 degrees just to follow him with his vision. Needless to say, Karl didn’t like his suspicion and authoritative glare.

He turned around, revealing a pistol, shot the guard down with a bullet to the chest. He pulled him in a corner, beside the can of umbrellas designed with Pokemons.

No one saw what happened because there were just four people in the store: the cashier, a customer who’s currently being served by the cashier, another customer at the canned goods section and the dead guard. In the first place, the architecture of the store was stupid because no one could see what the guard was up to, which was why he’s been shoplifting for four months ’til Karl shot him dead today.

Karl leaned on a shelf, took aim at the lanky guy in stripes reading the label of a meatloaf and pulled the trigger. What a whiny guy. He managed to scream in pain before passing out. And so the cashier upon seeing this, shouted, “What the fuck!” and the hip-hoppy customer with headphones said, “Shit!” and started to run for it, only to find himself almost face-to-face with Karl whose gun was pointed at his head. It was punctured with a bleeding bullet hole half a second later.

The cashier started to beg.

“P-p-please, Sir, don’t kill me! I beg you! I’ll give you all the cash right here — I don’t own the store! It’s all yours, Sir! Just please don’t kill me! I wanna live!”

Karl slowly approached the counter for a pack of cigarettes.

The cashier started to pray, curled in a corner.

“Jesus Christ, oh Lord, you’ll bring them to justice, oh, Lord. I love you, Jesus — I know I deserve heaven. I love you, Go–”

Dead.

A minute later, after smoking two sticks, Karl was closing down the store to the annoyance of three girls with exposed cleavages. They said they really have to load their cell phones, and could he please open the store just so they can load their cell phones. They spoke like they can’t be denied because they were too good-looking.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” one of them said, pointing a finger sporting a fingernail with mini Kero Kero Keroppi stickers.

Karl said he was the owner’s nephew, and that he knew another store just down the next alley, which loads cell phones.

“What?” the same girl asked with a contorted face decorated with thick makeup. “There are no stores there!” She said, pulling her bra up. The other two combed their long hair with their fingers impatiently, revealing sweaty white necks.

Karl said there definitely was and he’ll show them. Finally, the girls followed him down the alley still complaining in high-pitched voices.

They stopped. Karl looked left and right.

“Ok, where the hell is it?” asked the same very vocal girl.

Karl shot them in their chests one by one. He pulled them to the side and buried them using trash inside a nearby garbage can.

He walked on.

By now, he was hearing police sirens all over the place, though he’s sure it’s just because of his first victim. It would take time before they discover the corpses in the store. Well, he was right because a homeless guy would eventually find the corpses in the alley first, mug them and squeeze their breasts, before calling the cops.

Meanwhile, Karl hailed a cab.

“To that school? Ah, the traffic! How much do you pay going there? My meter is busted,” said the old moustached taxi driver.

Karl looked at him directly on the rear view mirror, disgusted by his yellow eyes and the lines on his forehead. Later, he made the cab pull into a corner quite hidden by a balite tree. The driver jumped in horror as he felt the mouth of the cold gun on the side of his neck. The temperature turned to extremely hot later as a bullet passed through his neck, splitting his spinal cord.

Karl walked along the huge campus.

He passed by people with warm smiles, happy laughing heads, watery eyes. He wanted to line them up in a single row and let a single bullet skewer their brains but that would be impossible. It’s important to get as many annoying people down as he can.

A few minutes later, he was knocking on the door of his music teacher’s room inside the faculty building. “Wait a minute!” yelled a rough female voice from the other side.

When Ms. Purificacion opened the door, she greeted him with, “Oh, Karl! What do you need? If it’s about your final grade I can’t negotiate about it.”

He said no, it’s not about the grade, but could they please go inside because he has something to consult with her. “Ok,” she said in an annoyingly suspicious tone. He closed the door behind him.

The police later found a hole in Ms. Purificacion’s left eye.

There was a girl.

The girl was not that pretty but she has been the object of Karl’s desire ever since he took that physics class. She has an emo suitor who always carries her bag and shopping bags. She always brings shopping bags in school. Karl knew where the two of them may be.

And they were there.

They were in their antropology org’s hang-out spot with another student, reading some photocopied papers while singing to the other student’s guitar-playing. It was weird, how they can read while singing. Karl walked up to them.

“Hey, it’s you!” said the girl smiling. The music stopped.

He fired three shots, one for each head.

All the students who saw what happened went screaming, tearing the bright Saturday morning apart. They fled to corners, ducked behind walls, cried for help, and whisked out their cell phones to call the police.

Meanwhile, he ran as fast as he could. He had a destination in mind. Everyone ran away from him, too, like he was a giant rolling fireball that’s out to burn them.

Five minutes later, he was at the cafeteria, chest heaving in exhaustion. No one here still knew what happened outside. A couple of people were chatting over over-expensive cups of coffee and cupcakes, typing on laptops, speaking the english language fluently.

He pulled out his dad’s Glock 17 and shot four students, one from each different table. Expensive coffee went spilling to the ground like regular coffee.

Karl was finally out of ammo.

4 Comments

Filed under fiction

4 responses to “Like Regular Coffee

  1. Whoa.

    This was totally unexpected. Cold, creepy, twisted.

  2. aila! aila!

    Tindi mo magsulat Marvin Sanchez! Winner! 😀

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