Prompt: Last words?
“Shut it!” The goon said tearing him down to his knees. Charlie felt his knee cap shift too far and tear with his jeans against the cold concrete floor of the garage.
“Jesus Christ!” Charlie said involuntarily in one loud monosyllabic phrase. “No, man, my daughter is a month old man, her mom is dead!”
“I said shuddit!” The goon said and drove the back of his heavy steel pistol through Charlie’s jaw. “There is nothing left friend. This is the end. If you give me your last words, I will do what I can to make sure they are known.”
Charlie sucked in the blood-snot and wagged the fog from his brain. He looked all around the garage then, hoping for a window, hoping for a real ‘friend’ and hoping that his brother was behind the rusted sliding door that hulked shut between certain death and the rest of his life.
“Do you have something to say friend?” A second man said, this one in a black ski mask and green camo vest. His partner’s face was distorted behind a clear mask, but Charlie could make out his face a bit. The second one was a black nothing and he talked faster and with smaller vocabulary than the first man.
A steel toed boot caught Charlie across the face and he hit the ground on his jaw, shattering that ‘perfect face’ his wife pretended to adore. “Fuck, stop, please.” Charlie wasn’t yelling anymore. The words came out like a low robotic hum. He was losing consciousness and he knew that death was certain. Charlie strained to think of his wife, Maggie, of little Lucy and that sick old dog that smelled terrible. He tried to capture their lives in one snap shot so he could make the statement most profound and beneficial to them all.
“I–” He choked and put up a red, soaking hand. “I want you to tell my daughter–”
The echo of the shot rang out and the two goons flinched at the intensity of the blast. Why do you always ask that?” The second goon asked raising his hands and pulling off his mask on the way down. “Why the hell do you bother man?”
“What?” The first goon said, dropping the .45 clip into his hand and checking the rounds before driving it back home. “What does it matter to you anyhow?”
“Just seems messed up is all.”
“Tell it to your mother.”
“I thought you was my mother.”
The men laughed.