Guns Blazin

I did not want to go back to that factory. I would not go back to that factory. I would ride the rails and live like a bum before I went back to that factory. I would rob banks and die in a shoot out with police before I went back to that factory.

I could see it now, living life on the lamb, robbing small town banks for cash. They’d have to bring in the FBI. Just me and Billy the Kid, yessir. From Algona to Springfield and over to Madras, they’d know me. Small town banks with their small town sheriffs would be the best. I wouldn’t go out of my way to hurt anyone, but I wouldn’t tolerate a hero either. I’d keep it cool like those guys from Terantino movies, and I’d donate to local charities, yessir. Some where along the line I’d fall in love with a doe-eyed bank teller, some little cutie brunette as I demanded tens and twenties in unmarked nonconsecutive bills from her bank. She’d be young and local, just biding her time, waiting for something, for someone to take her out of that town. All her friends were gone or married, and she’d be tired of being hit on by the same old guys in the same old bars in her same old town. Her eyes would flash with terror and excitement when I grabbed her hand.

The newspapers would call it a kidnapping, a hostage situation, and her parents would cry for her release on the regional news. They’d show pictures of her when she was 16 in her pale blue cheerleader uniform, eyes smiling brightly, full of wonder and possibility. Back when she was young and wild, but still held onto that bit of innocence that we all have. Before life beats it out of us. Friends she never knew she had would come out of the woodwork to be interviewed, and the church ladies would shake their heads, “what a shame, what a shame,” as they prayed for their poor lost little lamb.

But it wouldn’t be a kidnapping or a hostage situation at all. When I burst in to her small town bank, guns a-blazin, I was the embodiment of that spark she was looking for these last few years. And together we’d be fire. We’d be The American Dream.


2 responses to “Guns Blazin

  1. Stockholm syndrome with a twist. 🙂

  2. YES! Perfection, Sean.

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