PAUL HOLLAND'S FRIEND By Wendy Parker

The bank was crowded. It was Friday afternoon and everyone had a paycheck to cash. Everyone but the four heavily armed assholes that stormed in through the side and front doors simultaneously. They split into two groups of two, one in back of the bank, one in front.

“Get the fuck down or I’ll blow your fucking head off! Do you understand?! Fill the bag with the money and no dye pack bullshit. Everyone just stay the fuck down and no one will get hurt.”

The shortest of the four threw a burlap sack on to the counter in front of the first teller that he could get to. The terrified clerk froze. It was apparent that she was completely freaked out and had absolutely no idea what to do. Her split-second pause unnerved the little gunman and he shot her. Right in the face.

The left side of her head dissolved into a million pieces as she recoiled forward on to the counter. The discharge of the .44 caliber bullet lingered for what seemed like hours, clanging off the metal walls in the vault. The absence of sound that followed it was profound.

When he began screaming orders again, it was like an electric jolt to the unfortunate co-worker who had been standing close and was currently wearing bits of her friend's demolished skull as jewelry.

“Now, bitch. Put the fucking money in the fucking bag or I’ll blow your pretty face off, too. No bullshit!”

He drug the bag covered with the other tellers’ brain matter out from under her destroyed body and handed it to the branch manager. She quickly began to fill it, emptying drawer after drawer into the bloody bag.

The terrified patrons stayed huddled on the floor, scattered and lying where they fell the minute he ordered them to do so. A sibilant whisper cut through the quiet like a scream.

"I think he's a friend of Paul Holland's..."

The deranged diminutive robber whirled around to the group.

"Who the fuck just said that? Who the fuck is stupid enough to call the name of that wasted fuck Paul Holland? Who the fuck said it?!"

He turned to the reception desk and shot the clerk in the knee.

"Who the fuck said it? I swear to God I'll shoot every motherfucker in here till' I find out who the fuck said it."

A young girl, maybe eighteen, stood up. She and a friend had walked in just behind the robbers and were turning for the door when they had heard the first shot and dropped in place.

"I said it. I'm sorry. I don't think you're who I was thinking of. Please don't shoot anyone else."

The tiny robber grabbed his gory bag and made his way towards her.

"Paul Holland is a wasted fuck, never forget that. And I won't shoot anyone else."

He unloaded the four remaining slugs into her surprised features. Her head and the plate glass window behind her shattered in unison.

"After you."

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Wendy is a Licensed Practical Nurse from rural Ohio. She spends her spare time writing, fishing and working on her farm

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