The Last Breakfast - By 0 thru 9
The beloved Professor rocketed his SUV, turning down a shortcut, tires squealing like orgasmic pigs. Times in short supply. Hed overslept, cramming smoky toast and coffee. Now, adrenaline rushing, he was flying.... until hardbraking behind a stopped car.
Someone raggedly shuffled nearer.
Forget sharing your #@%&! life story... just move yo ass!, hissed Professor.
Ragged dude was at window mumbling, pointing. Professor lowered the window. Dude mumbled again. Then stopped. Then aimed a handgun.
Mumbling no more, Gundude grunted GitOuttaCar! Professor complied. Gundude charged, rammed Professor and entered the SUV.
Gundude, shutting the door, finally saw the Desert Eagle .50 aimed at HIM. Gundude flashed his pistol. Shots fired.
After an eternity, the smoke cleared. Both men lay wounded.
Strange thoughts occur near death. Gundude wished for the sweet opioids on his messy kitchen table. Professor tasted again his happiest childhood memory: Sunday breakfast with his parents. Buttery syrupy waffles, bacon, and their undivided attention. Heaven!
I called the cops. Better run, said Professor.
Cant run. Someone shot me. With good reason, Gundude deadpanned.
Ditto, the beloved Professor thought regretfully, dropping the expensive gun that hed finally nicknamed... Judas.
Someone raggedly shuffled nearer.
Forget sharing your #@%&! life story... just move yo ass!, hissed Professor.
Ragged dude was at window mumbling, pointing. Professor lowered the window. Dude mumbled again. Then stopped. Then aimed a handgun.
Mumbling no more, Gundude grunted GitOuttaCar! Professor complied. Gundude charged, rammed Professor and entered the SUV.
Gundude, shutting the door, finally saw the Desert Eagle .50 aimed at HIM. Gundude flashed his pistol. Shots fired.
After an eternity, the smoke cleared. Both men lay wounded.
Strange thoughts occur near death. Gundude wished for the sweet opioids on his messy kitchen table. Professor tasted again his happiest childhood memory: Sunday breakfast with his parents. Buttery syrupy waffles, bacon, and their undivided attention. Heaven!
I called the cops. Better run, said Professor.
Cant run. Someone shot me. With good reason, Gundude deadpanned.
Ditto, the beloved Professor thought regretfully, dropping the expensive gun that hed finally nicknamed... Judas.
Comments (12)
But if you reduced the firepower a bit for credibility, it's a good story.
This immediately raised so many questions for me...
Me too :grin:
This story is very much not to my taste, but I think you can separate the subjective and objective in what Im going to say here
Im alienated by these stereotypically American stories involving guns, hold-ups, home invasions, and so on. I find them boring. Guns, cars, property, violence. Its as if the authors, rather than writing what they know, are writing from TV and movies. As it happens I dont think an author should always write what he or she knows, but if you can write entirely from imagination, why settle for TV tropes?
But forgive that rant. Im just expressing my taste. To be more objective about it: Im really impressed with the energy of the language, the uniqueness of the imageryI love the orgasmic pigsand the immediacy of it, how you feel youre in amongst the action and in the moment. Its a well-told story. So Im voting I like it even though I merely respect it.
However, I was put off by this at the beginning:
Quoting Caldwell
Ive criticized show dont tell, but here is a good example of where its important. Dont tell me the Professor is beloved; show me. On the other hand, maybe its ironic or archly humorous. Im beginning to appreciate that the author had fun writing it.
Quoting Caldwell
I didnt like this self-censorship at first, not only because theres no problem with profanity in fiction and no need to weaken the speech by hiding it, but also because its done with the comic-book style symbols instead of asterisks. But thinking about it again, the comic book style does seem appropriate, and maybe this was intentional.
Maybe it did not hit him on the chest, but took off his arm or leg or some other non-vital tissue.
I liked the story. Finally!!!! A story that read like a story. It did not even matter that there was no actual lesson or moral or point to it; I revelled in its form as a story, after all the other writings that were not like stories. Well, at least the ones that I read. Including my own, make no mistake.
I thought it was meant to be part of the irony: to introduce a popular academic who, as stereotype, should be driving sedately in the slow lane, not rocketing and squealing. It suggests a Jekyll and Hyde character, such as many otherwise well-behaved people [of all sexes and genders] exhibit when they're behind the wheel of an SUV [or other vehicle with more horsepower than its intended purpose requires] The overpowered gun suggests the same split personality. Hence its belated naming.
I thought it rather a nice riff on TV tropes.
I found this that discusses the shock wave from getting hit. This is the same caliber, but different barrel, so we'll probably need to submit this to a forensic expert to be completely sure.
https://www.wearethemighty.com/popular/how-50-cal-kills-you/#:~:text=M33%20and%20other%20.-,50%2Dcal.,enough%20to%20cause%20neurological%20damage.
Both bodies are about to be shipped off to the coroner's morgue for autopsy. As soon at the bullets are recovered, we'll send them right over to ballistics.
Yes, as I said, I did suspect that. However, my first impression wasnt good and after reading the whole thing I was predisposed to find fault.