He had finished his last drink in the pub. Then he had left marching steadily, until the saloon disappeared from his mind. He had not thought of the girls inside. He had not thought of anything concerning girls, music, drinking, fucking, and money...
As he walked towards his home, he had noticed some strange people, civilian and uniformed, observing him suspiciously, but he kept walking. They took him at the second intersection. Twice they hit him in the face, almost castrated him after that. He touched his balls - 'nobody home'; his stomach - a ball of nerves and blood. 'Something going on', he had thought. Nothing else.
They pushed him inside a dark four-story building and the butts of guns forced him into sucking their dicks... Real fucking followed. He had refused even to count... and then again he had to cool down 'smoking guns' with his lips and tongue... Great!
The preliminary investigation had lasted two months. Almost two months... in a cell with a bunch of filthy criminals. In the rare days when he had been interrogated in the presence of a public defender, he dragged his misery through endless corridors, possessed of only one thought...
During the third month the crowd in the cell had thinned down; by the fourth month he was the only occupant. He waited... still alive.
They had summoned him. Shortly after roll call... As soon as the door had been opened, he jumped at the cop. He had stripped him in the cell, dressing himself in the uniform, and then ordered him to move. He escorted the cop to the lavatory on the first floor, hand-cuffed him to the ribs of the radiator, pushed the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
After few second he was at the exit. 'Fuck you!', he had said to the guards there, 'Do you know what just happened upstairs?'...
© Vladimir Shumelov