The Breaking Point

The asshole cut him off.  He wanted nothing more than to ram into the back of his car.  Why not?  He had nothing to lose anyway.  He pulled up to the gas pump.  He needed gas.  If he was going to drive he might as well get gas.  He unbuckled his seat belt and got out of his car.  He walked inside the gas station and walked up to the employee behind the counter.

"Fifty on five please," he said handing the kid a fifty dollar bill.

The kid took he time taking the money.  The kid gave him a funny look. He didn't like that.  He didn't like the kid at all.  The kid held the bill up to the light.

"Sorry this isn't real," said the kid in a bored voice.

"What do you mean it isn't real?" asked Peter.

"I don't see the stuff on it, that you're supposed to see.

"Bullshit the bill is fine."

"Nope, can't use it sorry."

"Then give it back."

The kid dropped the bill on the counter in front Peter.  Peter stared at it for a moment.  That was it.  Peter grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt and got in his face.

"Listen you little shit, you don't want to mess with me today.  That bill is fine and you're going to use it, and don't you ever fucking drop money in front of someone like that.  Do you understand me?"

"Let go of me!" said the kid.  He was scared.  Good.  Peter liked that.  Peter wanted him to be afraid.  In fact he wanted him to feel pain.  Peter slammed the kids head against the counter.  The kid began to cry.

"You little bitch, don't start crying be a man!" Peter said.

The same thought kept playing in the back of his mind.  The same scene.  Driving up to the accident scene.  Knowing what he was about to see.  His wife, his kids...or what was left of them after the crash.  No he hadn't actually been allowed to see the bodies.  He hadn't been allowed to cross the police tape.  The same scene kept playing over in his mind.  The agony he felt.  All he wanted was for someone else to feel it too.

Peter grabbed the pole that usually held the belt that divided the cash register lines.  He climbed over the counter and before the kid could move he swung the metal pole with all his might.  He hit the kid in the head knocking him over.  Peter raised it over his head for another attack.

He saw another employee standing in front of him.  It was the manager.  He had a gun.

"Set that down nice and easy buddy," said the man.  He was older, probably fifty's or sixty's.

Peter thought for a moment.  Then swung the pole down as hard as he could on the kid.  There was a gunshot and Peter fell to the floor dead.  The manager ran to the kid.  The kid was dead too.

The manager called 911.