My Private Little Prozac (standard:drama, 1300 words)
Author: K. Derby	Added: Jan 21 2004	Views/Reads: 4006/2325	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A male model takes a break from reality. A letter written to two friends.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

going to kill me.  I gave him my wallet and, when he reached out to 
take it, I grabbed his arm and head-butted him right in the face.  I 
heard his nose crunch, it was the most magnificent sound ever, and 
there was blood all over my Hugo Boss.  And it's silk too, so good luck 
getting that out. 

He drops the gun, I pick it up, point it at him and squeeze the trigger.


It was a small sound, a little pop, and he went down like he was
pole-axed.  Quite anti-climactic, no blubbering last words, no 
desperate pleas or pathetic attempts to crawl away. 

Just like a switch: first he's on, then he's off. Not at all like the
movies, and so easy, too!  A gun is much easier to use than that floor 
mop I was shilling a couple of year's back.  I just pulled a little 
piece of metal towards me a quarter of an inch.  Bang.  Someone's dead. 


But let me tell you, it was the most miraculous feeling! 

Like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  It was awesome, the
peace that descended upon me, sort of like after you've been laid, like 
an after-glow, all warm and fuzzy. 

You should try it sometime, both of you. 

Getting laid I mean, not the killing.  That's all mine now.  My private
little Prozac. 

Of course, to express my gratitude, I empty the rest of the gun into the
fucker's head.  It  started to come apart (the head, the gun still 
works just fine) after only a couple of bullets went into it and I 
stopped after four shots.  By that time his head was an unrecognizable 
blob, blood and brains everywhere.  Did you know that brains are a sort 
of pinky-gray?  Totally clashed with my Stephen James tie, let me tell 
you.  I don't want to mention what it did to my Gucci's. 

But you know what really got me pissed?  I mean other than your cravenly
manipulative attempts to get my goat?   I see now what you were doing 
in the bar, you bastards. 

No what really pissed me off, ruined my day, made me angry was... guess
what? 

I RAN OUT OF FUCKING BULLETS! 

I mean, can you believe that?  Who in their right mind tries to mug
somebody with only five, measly, goddamn bullets IN HIS FUCKING GUN! 

I mean really. 

I gave the body a couple of kicks, but it just wasn't the same, let me
tell you. 

I mean, I was just getting relaxed.  Just getting started, when the gun
went dry.  I needed more bullets. 

I suppose you saw what I did to the gun shop owner. 

The poor, brave man, right?  Sure.  You didn't hear him blubbering about
his fat wife and mongoloid children when I broke his arm.  I had to do 
that, god knows I'm not cruel, but I couldn't let him press the silent 
alarm.  But he should have just given me what I wanted. 

Let me tell you, it was a pleasure to put him out of his misery when I
finally did find the bullets that fit the gun (I mean really, how was I 
supposed to know there were so many kinds?).  So calming, you know.  
Like floating in heaven. 

And so what if I reloaded a couple of times?  The guy was probably dead
after the first one anyway. 

Oh, and that convenience store clerk?  How the hell can you run out of
Marlboros?  Isn't it, like, the most popular brand?  The other people 
just got in the way, I swear.  Well except for that old lady, but hell, 
they make change at the till, you know? 

I gotta finish this quick, the cabbie is stopping and I know the little
shit overcharged me by taking the long way around.  Besides, he's got 
this comb-over thing going on and it's so not happening.  I asked him 
to take me to that restaurant, you know, the one that told me that they 
were full and then let Fabio in?  Fabio, that has been!  Well, I'm 
starting to get angry again and I'm about due for another dose of my 
personal little calmative. 

I just wanted you guys to know that I've forgiven you for being such
shits to me and not to worry. 

I'll save you for last. 

Jerry 


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