SDMN Oneshots

Gunshots & Sirens - minizerk

Gunshots are frequent in this neighbourhood, Simon muses. I mean, most of them come directly from his gun, so it'd make sense that sounds could be heard resonating within the surroundings.

See, at first it had a level of reasoning behind it. Some Batman, vigilante justice, utilitarianism shit, he doesn't quite remember. Since then, his ethical standpoint has slowly been sliding away from the likes of Bentham and Mill, over towards deontology, and the works of Kant.

At least, that's what he tells himself when he kills a man for driving a couple of miles over the speed limit, which is probably when he realised how desperate for reasoning he was getting. Having said that, he's only coming up with the reasoning after the person's body has hit the floor, bullet lodged as neatly as a bullet can in his side, just above the hip.

This guy was a runner, so his aim wasn't perfect. Runners were always annoying, however, they weren't quite as annoying as the cop sirens, blaring obnoxiously from afar. Either they're on their way to diffuse some petty fight between 15 year old boys, who've donned their best adidas tracksuits especially for the occasion, a scrap with no substance. Or alternatively, someone's ratted him out already because they've heard a gunshot.

Hey, it could've been a firework for all that snake, whoever they are, knew. Should've waited for the second shot, make sure it's definitely a gun. Well, they were right on their first guess, but that's not really the point, in Simon's opinion, you wait it out at least, just to see.

It's weird though, he keeps trying to justify his actions when he feels pretty indifferent, ripping people's lives away from them. The impact it has on their families and loved ones has never come into play with his emotions, although he knows they're there, he just doesn't feel anything particularly unlike his usual flatlining deadpan.

He might be the one killing people, but he doesn't feel that much more alive.

Simon knows he's sick, knows he's fucked in the head. He's become so desensitised to the world around him, and the value of life - human life in particular, he'd never hurt an animal - that he can't seem to relate to anything anymore. He's in a permanent state of disconnect. There's help out there for people like him, but it's the kind you can only get if you turn yourself in, drop an insanity plea, sit there in court and say you're guilty while some psychology professor stands in the witness box making these people feel sorry for you, when you've destroyed the lives of countless people, well, more like 43. When you can turn your head from the box and see the families of the deceased huddled together, protecting themselves, like you'll jump up and fire at them too. Maybe some of them want that, subconsciously.

Then, he'd be carted off to some highly guarded institution, he'd be sectioned and forced to tell a woman with a degree in sitting on a sofa and asking "and how do you feel about that?" Her heeled foot clacking against the wooden floor, indicating her lack of want to be there, while the newly-declared insane tells her and doesn't actually improve from it. Simon's so divided about receiving help.

He figures one thing that could help him out of this unfeeling funk is an emotional reaction. As in, he needs something to feel, to be able to remind him of humanity. Like they always did in the films he watched as a kid.

Having said that, he did watch a film where a man fell in love with a shop mannequin as a kid, while Starship's Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now blared in the background.

Great film, by the way. Fucking strange, but great.

Anyway, Simon's on his way out of town for a couple of hours, so he can avoid the police in their wild chase of the area, following themselves around until they stumble upon one of those fights between 15 year old lads that he mentioned earlier. Or he would be, if he hadn't heard heavy judders of breath, and occasional sobs the person crying was clearly trying to restrict. It's also clearly a guy, by the tone of the audibly regressive sounds, which is odd. A grown man, crying in public. Normally, he wouldn't care but that's a new one, seeing as how this town is so fucking backward in its beliefs, you're a man, you don't cry in public, don't let them see your weaknesses, you fucking buftie, molly, flit. It's all bullshit.