Pop by Carlo Gallegos

Random short fiction 36.18 from El Portalhere’s the link.

A spatter of phrases that ricocheted off my eyeballs:

stick skinny Terry

fired his shot precise

he barely had to look down the barrel to know where those wild projectiles would lacerate

pushed and pulled his hand toward some purpose, and he so easily hit his target dead

Jimmy’s sad heavy canter brought him down the bare wooden stairs

his sad pile of a mother another two-liter Fanta

a perfectly sorry example of someone taking advantage of the government

he was raised on slurred values and neglect

Unable to prevail, a weak power of will

a self-imposed bright future

rusting and rotting into his obesity

disappearing from his grease soaked reality

covering everything in an engulfing deprivation

his laugh hammers away, loaded with degradation

blood and chaos

You can almost piece the story together from those fragments of textual forensic evidence, though most were collected from the first half of the text. Any other witnesses care to testify?

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