Execution Victims

Execution Victims
By Multiman

 
         “This is it, George said with glee and a quick turnaround to his backseat passenger. We're finished.”
         Max, belly down squirmed around with an apple in his mouth, uttering only violent grunting and muffled screaming.
         Just weeks ago in the hospital, George said the same thing, bawling.
         “This is it. We’re finished.”
         Both patients were draped in green gowns as prisoners lined up in uniform toward execution, their heads bald as monks.
         “We're gonna get through this, Georgy, Max said, just like always.”
         “But what about all the stuff we wanted to do? We had that list since we were kids and now it's all ruined!” George answered.
         “We can still do em!” Max replied.
         Now red and blue lights pursued them, piercing with bright flashes as though they were celebrity press cameras. They illuminated the sedan's cabin, subliminally revealing George's bloodshot, sleep-deprived, yet manic, eyes. Still he revved the gas and yanked that slippery wheel until the car even drifted up the dirt hill.
         “You know we have to end this. We die as champions!” He mused, grabbing a wad of $100-dollar bills out of a duffle bag on the passenger’s seat, smelling it and then tossing it into the air over a deep chuckle. “We've got no family anymore; we're bachelors!”
         Just weeks ago, George was dripping tears onto his chicken fried steak from the hospital’s cafeteria.
         “We got a little freedom.” Max proposed, stuffing his mouth with stale mac and cheese.
         “Really?”
         “Yeah, like – we can do some stuff we couldn’t do if we weren’t this way.” George explained.
A bullet exploded George's driver's-side mirror into bits, sending even more adrenaline up his back. So he grabbed his Uzi and sprayed some bullets into the air right outside the window, chanting, Yee-Haw!
         “We have nothing left. Do you know that?”
         Earlier in their apartment, George wallowed to Max across the room in the dark with nothing above them but the spinning fan, it seemed. Two corpses lying in a tomb. George said the same thing.
         “Well that's good!” Max replied. “We can do whatever we want!”
         George's prolonged silence troubled Max. Max knew just as well as George that they both were not sleeping that night.
         What on earth was George concocting in his head? Max thought. He had always been an irrational boy since he lost his parents.
         The police chopper’s spotlight made both men squint once it flashed by.
         “Mother was never proud of me. Father was never proud of me. Hell, God was never proud of me. I'm just showin' 'em up!” He shouted with tears streaming down a jolly face.
         “Almost there. I wanted to be a millionaire, you know.” George rambled as though he wanted to impress Max.
         Weeks ago in the city park, Max agreed.
         “Me too.”
         The park's weather was perfect for creating new ideas and pondering. George smirked maniacally at the chess board. Max's gaze was down into his lap, but he could somehow feel the gravity of his best friend's grimace. Then, George whirled his knight right into the spot that knocked out his queen and put Max's king in checkmate.
         Takeover.
         Max bit into the apple with all his might screaming with a squinting, face raging red. Meanwhile a dust trail covered the cop cars, sirens blaring.
         As a child, George’s mom never ceased to remind him that he’d never amount to much, but now, he thought, I am amounting to the top of what she always wanted out of me. I hope she’s watching this. I hope she’s proud of me. I hope she sees what she’s done.
         “I love you, brother. I hope you know that,” George admitted. “I just know what’s best for you and me. That’s all.”
         The car zoomed off the cliff, all dreams free-falling. Money bills whirled and twirled around the cabin. George kept his eyes closed in solace.
         Boom! Splash! The bucket list was complete.