Johnny Got Shot

Johnny Got Shot

Three, two, nope I can’t do it, not a chance in Hell. I’ll just have to get myself home and call Frankie. Frankie always knows best, I doubt he’s seen this before, but still, he’ll know what to do.

Jeez that hurt more than I expected, and now blood is pouring out from where the bugger shot me. Man I wish I had a phone. Why didn’t I listen to Mindy? She said, “Johnny you’ll regret it, everyone has one these days, what if you get shot in the leg?” Okay, so she didn’t say that last part, but imagine if she did?  That would have been funny. Actually, no, no it wouldn’t. This is so far from funny that I am now laughing hysterically as I drag my limp bleeding leg through the dusty path. Just what every open wound needs, dust.

If I had taken the arrow out I would have bled out there and then, back there, with the roses and those blue ones, I can never remember what they’re called. My mum always used to pick them and put them in the kitchen window. They were crawling with bugs, but she never seemed to mind, I always thought it peculiar.

An arrow in the leg is always better than being dead, that’s a saying, right? Well it should be, because it’s true. Who wants to be dead? Then again, who wants an arrow in their leg? I sure as Hell don’t.

I was just wandering through the way, and bang, the psychopath shot me. Okay, so it was less of a wander and more of a run, but who needs details? I have an arrow in my leg, what more do you need to know? It hurts, and now that I’m thinking about it even more it hurts even more, I need to take my mind off of it. Wow I feel woozy. I thought keeping the darn thing in would keep me plugged up? Turns out that was a stupid thought.

Come on Johnny walk faster, faster. It’s more of a crawl really. If he’s still behind me he’ll have an easy job of finding me, there’s a trail of my blood thick as my arm behind me, any fool could track me.

I used to shoot, when I was younger. Say nine or ten, I only did it for a little while. I stopped when my dad ran off with the waitress from the restaurant that sold the good peach pie. I love peach pie, but now it carries with it a bitter undertone of abandonment and resent. Still, I eat it every Friday night.

I wonder if mum still puts those blue flowers in the kitchen window. When I get home I think I’ll call her, it’ll be nice to hear her voice again, to tell her that I have been missing her, and that, well, I love her. I suppose I should probably apologise too, you know, for stealing from her.

What? When my dad left I didn’t know what to do with myself, my head was all over the place, and when Frankie told me to sneak the Mars into my pocket it only took the one time to get me addicted. That’s what got me into this mess, stealing. If I hadn’t have stolen from mum I wouldn’t have had to leave home, and I wouldn’t have ended up in my sorry excuse of an apartment sleeping with the roaches, and I wouldn’t have wandered through this dreary little village and tried to make off with a prize chicken, and I wouldn’t have been shot in the leg. So, if you think about it, this is Frankie’s fault.

I wonder if Frankie has ever sewn anyone up before. I know that he’s resuscitated a few people, he’s a hero around our parts, people don’t see him the way I do. Not many people know about his stealing, they don’t realise that a janitor’s wage couldn’t have afforded him such a hot lifestyle. They all see me though, they always have. I’ve got a rubbish poker face, that’s my problem. That, and the fact I listened to Frankie.

I’ll never forget my mother’s face when she found out. Oh the veins on her forehead almost jumped out and strangled me she was that mad. It was only a couple hundred quid, I needed a new bike, mine only had one wheel. Where was one wheel going to get me? She always went on at me to get a job, but how could I get to a job with one wheel on my bike. Slowly. And I don’t do slowly. Well, I am doing now, but I only have one leg.

I can almost see the road, man it’s far away, but it’s so close, it’s one of those what do you call thems? We learnt about them in English, and when I got home I told my mum about them, but she was too busy crying to take notice. She always cried, especially after dad left, I don’t remember seeing her smile. Boy I wish she was here now, she’d know what to do. When I get out of this mess I’m going home, home home.

Come on Johnny, not far now, I’m almost at the road. Oh man, things just got a whole lot woozier. Is it getting darker out here, or am I about to pass out?