Sticking To It - Fiction

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

This is my entry to The 31 Sentence Contest Round 12 by @tristancarax. It is a contest based on creating a story with 31 sentences exactly, and each sentence has a set number of words allowed. For more information on joining the challenge see this post:

Sticking To It

You don’t know me; I’m thinking you really wouldn’t want to know me, because I’m not what you’d call a good guy. You’d think I wasn’t a good guy, because if you knew me, you’d know what I do and what I’ve done.

I’ve broken almost every law that a guy can break, and there isn’t a law that I wouldn’t break if it would be of benefit to me. The way I see things goes something like this; whatever I see and like that you think belongs to you... sorry, but it also happens to belong to me.

Not sorry.

My philosophy says no one owns anything; everyone owns everything. That is, at least, my view on things; nice things you have that I want.

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

There are things about me most of you’d hate. That’s okay with me because I learned a long time ago that life isn’t about pleasing others, but pleasing oneself. Anyone telling you otherwise is lying to you; in fact, I’m the honest one on this subject.

Anyway, it’s time I get into why I’m writing this and I want to start off saying this photograph, supposedly of me, could be me I guess, but it is not. It really isn’t.

The photograph does remind me of an experience I had when I was younger, which I think was a good thing, because I think I stopped a terrorist. The cops didn’t agree and I was arrested as a terrorist instead.

It meant that the real terrorist got away from the incompetent cops, while I sat in jail for a couple of months until my lawyer got me out of there.

What happened, was, the cops came up on me trying to make out what all this dude’s stuff was. This was after I’d beaten the damned terrorist. Damn! He was all busy trying to make a bomb or something when I saw him, and then I just beat the shit out of him.

He was out cold; I sat down and looked at his stuff, trying to figure out what the hell he’d been up to.

He had a bunch of little tools; screwdrivers, wrenches, and stuff like that.

I had seen this little electronic thing with an antenna on it and my very first thought was, it could be a detonator for a bomb. Upon seeing that, I had landed a sidekick upon his head.

Then stuff started falling out of his pockets, I got him in a headlock and pummeled his face. He pulled a gun. I kicked it out of his hand, followed with a spinning back kick to the face.

He laid there on the pavement, moaning and groaning, while I checked out what he had dropped out of his pants and shirt pockets. Eventually, he could get up. I told him, “Never come back.”

I returned to checking out his stuff, then the cops came and arrested me.

That’s the truth; I’m sticking to it.

_{Sticking To It © free-reign 2020}