Smiling

Smiling

by Emily

The echo in the alley was loud and obscene, his breathing came out in rough pants, and Mike’s heartbeat was so incredibly hard against his chest it could have jumped right out of him. Sires trailed up and down the street, footsteps slopped on the moist side streets. Voices yelled, but all Mike could hear was the dog. Hours earlier Mike had been reading the paper, scanning the ‘Help Wanted’ section for job openings. He was real desperate, money thinning, his girlfriend leaving him; his entire world was crashing simultaneously and Mike was getting far too anxious for his own good. It forced crazy ideas into his head, because it just ticked him off so much to see these rich guys, in their expensive suits, throwing their money around so easily when he had nothing. If the bank was capable of giving these men money, then Mike felt he deserved some as well. At two in the afternoon Mike plodded into the bank, nervous sweat collecting on the back of his neck. He was going to do this, and nobody could stop him now.
“Give me all of your money, now!” He screamed at the woman behind the counter, pulling a gun from his back pocket. The teller nervously began piling twenties, fifties, and hundred into the ratty backpack Mike had flung before her. A wicked smile overtook his face as everyone whimpered in sheer terror. It was then followed by stomping, clad boots and a decorated officer with a megaphone.
“Drop the gun, and come out with your hands up!” He bellowed through the instrument. Glaring at the force blockading his main exit, Mike roughly stole the bag from the teller, growling and mumbling beneath his breath, only to take off over the counter to the employee exit. The police tracked him for hours, running throughout the entire city. Dogs were sent to keep tabs on his smell, and the police worked late into the night. It was one dark alley they had missed, Mike hide inside of a large dark blue dumpster, holding the money in shaking hands. With every bark he shook harder, letting out whimpers, Mike had no other way to get out. Peaking over the edge of his hiding spot he noticed a German shepherd, standing idly before him, his lips quivering into a hideous growl. A bark was soon emitted and officers charged down his alley way. Mike was officially trapped, standing like an idiot in a dumpster, police shoving their guns into the air and screaming.
“Mike Bishop, hand over the money!” One officer yelled, but Mike was not convinced, he couldn’t go to jail. All at once he hopped out of the dumpster, pulling his gun out and holding it in the air with unsteady hands.
“Back away from me, or I’ll-I’ll shoot!” He stuttered nervously, his index finger quivering upon the trigger. One officer moved forwards, gesturing to the bag.
“Give it up, Mike, and we won’t hurt you.” The voice that Mike heard was calm and apathetic, but Mike wasn’t going to jail, he couldn’t go to jail, he wasn’t a bad person! Shaking his head slowly, Mike’s finger pressed down upon the trigger and fired off two rounds. Impaling the officer in his shoulder and right arm, he fell to the ground with a shriek of horror. The other officers began yelling and the dogs were released upon Mike, a shot fired off and hitting him in the chest before he was attacked by the fierce dog cops. The backpack of money lay adjacent to him as he was surrounded; slowly sucking in air, his hand clutching the spot he had been hit. Yet Mike felt this unnerving calmness rush over him, his entire world slowing down, and the dogs pulled from him, and officers charging over him. His bloody hand slid over his chest, over to the money, contaminating it with his blood before his head fell to the side and all breathing stopped.