The Fabulous Fear of Fear

A/N: This is really an experimental story. I wanted to see if I can still write action scenes, and I hope it turned out well. Also, there is a certain part of this that is rushed because I needed to.

Loneliness is what rules this world, and the cause of loneliness is fear. The only way to cave into fear is by faultiness. Sounds confusing, huh? See, you can’t be afraid of anything. For example, look at Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon. He just walked in while people are shooting at him, and he doesn’t even flinch! Chances are if a normal human being did that they would literally shit their pants.

That’s why I only have a single fear in this world, and that is the fear of fear. That may seem outrageous, but I kid you not. With this fear, you can literally do anything. You basically do anything balls out, no matter what it is. Whether it is running 27 miles, telling a gangster you stole his drugs, or robbing a gas station, you will never be afraid.

That has been one of the leading causes towards my insomnia. I only got a combined total of 10 hours of sleep in the past week, and slightly over that in the past month. It’s part of this new life goal I set for myself since my wife left me. It’s been, what, 11 months since she left me? All I’ve been doing is working out, studying, and watching spanish soap operas.

For some reason, the police department still wants me. Damn, I accidentally hit a woman last week in bright daylight. The punchline is that she was on the cross walk, and every car stopped for her, except for me. I was reading a news article on texting while driving, too. The sheriff just said “accidents happen” and blew it off.

The biggest question is why am I a cop? I’m surprised I haven’t killed another officer because of friendly fire. All of them are annoying assholes anyways. “Hey look, fellow cops! I’m going to fill Hogan’s car with popcorn!” I honestly don’t know why, but I thought it was humorous. I thought it was funny when I stole his cat, which I have still yet to return.

Back onto loneliness, I still have yet to submit to depression. For some reason, I am still holding my head up high while walking through the valley of hell. I don’t know what it is, but it makes me have pride in myself. Unfortunately not right now, as I’m currently browsing through my Senior year yearbook in my car.

I’m staring at this picture of Alex Glover, an old classmate of mine. Guy went on to murder his whole family a couple years back. I remember that because he was my next door neighbor, and I thought the screaming was from family game night. One time I heard him scream “BLOODY MURDER!” and for some reason I thought they were playing Clue, but that also explains the disappearance of their nanny. A police scanner breaks up my thought.

“Hey Hogan! You there, bright one?” Jimmy, the guy who no longer has a cat, asked through the scanner.

“What the hell do you want?” I replied through the mic.

“Apparently, sheriff wants you to head to Firkin & Fox because he has a suspicion.” He said with an uncertain voice. Daly always has suspicions about stuff for some reason, and he always sends me on the case. He doesn’t even know that something is going to go on, he just has these stupid thoughts.

“Tell him I’m on-” I attempt to continue, but I can’t. Something inside me rushes down my body. It feels slippery, and it sure is feeling like it. Something exits out of me, then I let out a girly moan.

“Hogan! Why the hell are you choking the chicken while talking to a co-worker?” Jimmy questions me with a disgusted tone. I would say something, but I’m silenced in shock. I grab the mic and hold it up to my mouth.

“It went out the backdoor.” I let go of the button, sigh, and slouch back in my seat. Jimmy doesn’t reply for a few seconds, but then breaks out with laughter. I hear the laughter of others, too. He coughs, then takes a deep breath?

“You shat your pants! What are you, twelve?” He screams into the mic while laughing. With no pause, I speak back.

“I killed your cat.” I hang it up, then I put it in my glovebox. I look out the window to find civilians walking around with random costumes representing celebrities and superheroes. For some reason, this seems like a recurring theme in my life, though tonight is Halloween. That explains a lot.

I start driving through the path of the crowd. Every once in a while I almost hit a Batman or Pluto Nash. but it’s mostly smooth sailing. I park right on the side of Firkin & Fox, where the employee entrance is. I open my door, but only to hit something. Somebody starts crying, and I get out to see a baby crying on the sidewalk. The baby’s parents are staring at me with an angry look, but I turn my head the other way and head into the side entrance.

The next part of my routine is simple. I walk through the kitchen, grab a handful of garlic carrots, and head out through the doors that leads into the pub. I will find my way through obnoxious drunks that are laughing louder than is possible, find a seat at the bar in front of the draft beer, and start scouting out the suspects in this bar after I order my food.

While waiting for my Coke and poorly shucked mussels, I find out that a deal going on. Standing right beside the door is Cespedes, a poor 17 year old drug dealer. He previously bumped into No Name Jose, a guy who threatened to stab me because I ran over his fence. How did Cespedes get his drugs? Ricky Gretzky, a white trash heroin dealer who runs this.

No, I’m not a superhuman, it’s just they are the only ones not wearing costumes. The only other people not wearing gear are the goons, sadly none of them are Cespedes. To tip them off, I walk by Gretzky and take a syringe out of his back pocket, because that’s how intelligent he is. I tell Cespedes that Gretzky is clean and has no stuff, therefore he is going to ditch before they make the deal. For some reason, Cespedes already gave the money to him, so they’re screwed unless Jose doesn’t know, but I told him that Cespedes is going to screw both of them over. What will I do with Gretzky? Just say that they’re going to kill him, because they will.

I take a deep breath, then step outside. The sun is just now setting, but the clouds are grey. It seems that rain will be present soon, but it doesn’t matter. The air seems calm and unpolluted. My observation gets interrupted by the door opening. I look behind to see Gretzky with a menacing look on his face. I wave at him, but he grabs me by the neck.

“Go to the back, you speed narration jackass!” He screams in my face. I look over at the families eating on the patios, and all have the face of shock. I start walking to the back with his hand digging between my shoulder blades. I distance myself from him once we reach the back.

“Sorry ‘bout Cespedes, man.” I say to Gretzky as my back faces him.

“You left your badge at the bar. I showed it to them. I also noticed my needle is gone, so I’m going to murder your honkey ass!” He screams. I hear his footsteps behind me. In a quick moment, I take the needle out of my pocket and turn around. When he is a foot away from me, I jab the syringe into his right eyeball.

Gretzky’s body collapses to the ground. His body makes a thud, knocking the needle out of his eye. They’re behind me, I know it. I also know that Jose is holding a .47 about three feet behind me, with it pointing at my head. The 17 year old coward is somewhere behind him, but I’m not sure exactly where he is.

I pivot around to face Jose. I grab the gun, rip it out of his hands, and charge towards him. I wrap my right arm around his neck to form a headlock, and I squeeze as hard as I can. Once he starts flailing, I toss him to the ground and slam my foot on his forearm. He releases a scream. I look up to find that, as expected, Cespedes ran.

I chase after him, and in a few seconds I’m right on his tail. Ces thinks it’s a good idea to weave and jump over stuff, but that’s not working so far. My shoelaces loosen every time I take a step, coming half way off every time. For intervention, I hold the gun in front of me and chuck it at him.

The gun lands between his shoulder blades and takes him down. I stand over him, pocket the gun, then tie my shoe. Once I’m done, I stand up and turn around to see their goons, all running towards me. I find this outrageous, as they didn’t witness me murder a guy with a syringe and take down the whole ring leader. Dumbasses.

I start running. The barrel of the gun is digging into my thigh, and it hurts like hell. As I continue sprinting down sidewalk, the more it hurts. I take the gun out of my pocket and toss it on the ground. With an extreme amount of luck, the trigger gets pulled, and a bullet gets sent right under my feet. I jump out into the street.

Then something hits me.

A car slams into my left hip, sending me down the street. I land straight on my side, but I can’t recall anything after that. It all just faded to black. Hell, it’s still black right now, but there’s a good thing about this. I finally get some sleep.