The Last Heist Ever

Desert Eagle or Ak-47? Screw it, I’m taking both. It’s so easy to get a gun in this country nowadays, and in this situation I don’t think you can have too many. Grab the machete too. You never know when it might come in handy. Plus, I’ve always wanted a machete. Looks totally badass. What else do I need? I’ve already got the dynamite. It’s not like the bank is super hi-tech, dynamite should work. It better work, I have enough to blow myself straight to hell. It’ll work. Anything else? Guns, check. Explosives, check. Ski mask…I can get that at the Wal-Mart on the way to the bank. What else…what else? I’m drawing a blank. Alright, I guess I’m good for now. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.

Bleh, it’s so hot out today. Hot and dusty. Is a ski mask really the best choice? Do I even really need a ski mask? The plan is simple. In and out. GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR! Light the dynamite. BOOM! Cha-ching. Simple. I do need a ski mask though, I’m going to be a bank robber! A bank robber needs a ski mask. It’s classic. I’m not Mr. Blonde. I’m not wearing a suit. I need a ski mask. It’s settled.

F@%K!

I forgot bullets.

Screw it. Back to the task at hand. I think this is the first time I’ve ever been inside a Wal-Mart and not been greeted by a senior citizen and a smiley face sticker. Kind of nice, yet a bit eerie. Let’s get in and get out. Coming from a middle class family… that was always easier said than done. Even now with the store completely empty I seem to find myself wandering down the wrong aisles and becoming distracted by the random odds and ends and semi-useful yet practically useless items that fill its endless stacks of shelves. Of course I need a picnic blanket that also keeps my beer cold. Who doesn’t? Glow in the dark toilet paper? HOW HAS NOBODY THOUGHT OF THIS BEFORE! Stay focused. Ski mask. Find the ski mask. Why are there no ski masks? What month did the store shut down? It was summer wasn’t it? It’s summer now. Wow, it’s already been a year? Stupid mistake. I should try a thrift store or a sporting goods place. God, this is taking forever. I really just want to be a bank robber already.

Ski mask, check. Finally got that piece of the puzzle all set. The sports store was a great choice. I just wish there was a black one. All that was left over was this kid sized purple one. It’ll do the trick, but it doesn’t quite fit and I look absolutely ridiculous. I’m looking ridiculous and sweating profusely. That’s a winning combination. I wish it wasn’t so hot out. I’m going to die of heat stroke before I even make it to the bank. That’d be quite a headline: BANK ROBBER DIES ON WAY TO BANK. LOOKS STUPID IN PURPLE SKI MASK. Well, looking on the brightside, I guess it’s a good thing there aren’t newspapers anymore.

Take it from me, the world isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Hell, it’s definitely cracking though. I’m a prime example. Walking around in broad daylight with an AK-47 and a ski mask. Not a single comment. I looked at the birds and the birds even shut up. They don’t want to be dinner. I don’t blame ‘em. What a horrible way to die, lying open on the ground with a wild coyote or something picking you clean. Not me. Not today. No sir. Not today.

At long last, I’m at the bank. Look left, look right, okay, coast is clear. Not a single cop in sight. No witnesses to speak of. Two glass doors are all that stand in the way of me and my dream of becoming a bank robber. Not gonna let that stop me. Gun up, take a deep breath, and….

“GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR! THIS IS A STICK UP! NOBODY MAKE A GODDAMN MOVE OR I’LL BLOW EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU RIGHT BACK TO KINGDOM COME! Now I don’t mean to scare you, you got nothin to worry about. I’m gonna go in and out, it’s gonna be – vault, dynamite, boom! I’m leaving with the bank’s money, not yours. I’m not a thief. I’m a bank robber, and there’s a difference. A slight yet moral difference, trust me. It’s okay. Y’all got nothing to worry about. Just keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Super intimidating intro speech, check. Make your way to the safe while swinging machine gun around erratically like you’re capable of anything at any moment, check. Alright, I’m at the safe. This was far too easy. I’m sure it would’ve been much harder last year, but, well, I guess this is one of those right place right time sort of things. Worked out for me. I’m going to be the richest man alive.

Yo, dynamite is sketch. I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is I have to connect the blasting cap to the fuse. Do I need to connect all of them together? If I blow up one, they’ll all blow up right? I mean that makes logical sense, dynamite should blow up dynamite. It’s like back in the old playground days when kids would try and cheat at rock paper scissors by throwing out dynamite. If everyone throws out dynamite we’re ALL getting blown to hell. Speaking of which, I should probably just stop while I’m ahead. I feel like if I screw around with these too much I’m liable to blow myself up. I’ll connect two to the fuse, just in case, and I should be good. I’ll just leave the rest unconnected and the explosions should take care of itself. Alright, careful now, lay the fuse out, carefully, don’t pull too hard. I think this is just long enough for me to get the hell out of here before the entire room goes up in smoke. Okay. Ready, set, go!

Ouch. Of course I would trip running away from lit explosives. I’m the worst bank robber ever. Get up. Brush it off. No one saw you fall.

Back to business:

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE HELL UP. IN JUST ABOUT TWENTY SECONDS THAT SAFE BACK THERE IS GONNA BLOW, AND IT’S GOING TO BE LOUD. REAL LOUD. Now, I’m not a bad guy. I’m just a guy trying to live in a world that’s killed billions before me. I just need something to throw on the fire tonight. You know what I mean? Of course you do. Look,  I’m not looking to hurt anyone, so RUN! GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW BEFORE THE -”

BOOM!

Tinnitus. Can’t hear anything. You’d think I wouldn’t even be able to hear my own thoughts, but somehow I remembered the technical word for ringing ears. I’m such a nerd. A true wikipediaphile.  Yeah, I may be a strange one, but hell, I’m a bank robber now. I’m – a – bank – robber – now. This stupid little history student is now a badass bank robber! Who would’ve ever thought that I would be a bank robber? Me! Of all people! No criminal history, no violent tendencies, relatively normal childhood, straight B’s, nothing out of the ordinary, hell I would’ve even been a college graduate had the system not shut down. And now I’m a bank robber. In a weird way I bet my mom would’ve been proud. I set my sights on my goal and I achieved it. I know dad would’ve gotten a kick out of it. If only someone was here to see me now. Actually, no, I still look absolutely stupid in this purple ski mask. I’m okay being alone. Time to get this money.

Smoke, debris, rubble. I didn’t quite think through the logistics of this. I’m going to have to climb over a bunch of huge rocks to get to the cash. Good thing I rock climbed that one time when I was seven. Oh well, mo’ money mo’ problems. Things could be worse. Things could always be worse. I could be dead. I could have blown myself up and lay here dying and broke, the last man on Earth killed in the last bank heist ever. That’d be a headline… if there were papers.

Correction: There are some papers left. They’re lying on the vault’s floor. Green ones, plastered with the faces of men whose names will be forgotten to this withering world of humanity. The irony that I know fully well the history of this world and of my species, and I am the one who is to witness its last dying gasps, that irony is not lost on me. It’s nearly satirical. Here I find myself, an honest and just man, breaking a law of humanity, simply because I can. Simply because I want to. Simply because there are no more laws. Is what I am doing criminal? Am I a criminal? Is this illicit? Is to take something that is not yours wrong if there is no one else to claim it? WHO AM I TO BE JUDGED BY?! Am I judged by my ancestors? By the people who used to roam these lands? Am I not innocent until proven guilty by a jury of my peers? By that standard, will I not remain forever innocent in this new uninhabited world? Are the laws I was raised with still valid as long as I remember their commandments? Am I the judge and jury of my own actions? Who is around if there need be an executioner? Just the world? The animals? Is there even such a thing as good or bad, just or unjust, in a world where I am the only survivor? Am I the moral compass of humanity? Oh well, I’m rich now. I’ll just figure it out as I go along.

Dufflebag full of money, check. Even scored a few blinged out pieces of gold jewelry from a blown safety deposit box. Good day. Didn’t even use my AK. Frankly though, the sight of me rolling down these dusty streets of this tiny little town in Texas with a duffle bag full of cash, draped in gold chains, adorned with gold rings, with an Ak-47 on my back, and this stupidly ill-fitting purple ski mask, it really sounds like something straight out of a Grand Theft Auto game. I’m a parody of my own culture. Society has officially ended and I am the product of our millennial generation. Full of pop culture references and quick, random, ADHD level thought processes, and with no way to tweet them. What has the world come to? Wait.. Oh my god… does this make me GQ’s Man of the Year? I mean, by default I am, right? Meh.. who cares? With my luck I’d probably still lose out to George Clooney’s rotting yet undeniably handsome corpse.

Ahh, there’s nothing better than the fresh air of the plains of Texas as the evening winds its way down. The sun is setting on the world tonight. The air is becoming cool. The weight of my victories today make each step harder and harder to take. I can’t wait to be in the safety of my home, curled up next to a big fire with some hot food in me. There, just past the sky scrapers. Home sweet home. The biggest, baddest, most imposing house you could possibly have in the state of Texas… The Alamo, and it’s all mine.

At first I thought it would be hilarious if I just strolled in and took over The Alamo. One man, conquering a building it took 600 Mexican lives to claim. One man, alone in San Antonio, the second largest city in the second largest state of the once great United States of America. One man, under god, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. Or so I would say. The Alamo had become my castle and I had proclaimed myself the sole resident and King of the Alone Star State. A year later and now this building has become something more than just a home for me. It’s become a symbol. The Alamo is once again a protector. The Alamo, once built to shield humanity from humanity, now acts as a shield against the coming onslaught of wild fauna which may wish to destroy the last vestiges of humanity. I am the last vestige of humanity. I am humanity. The coyote howling at my doorstep does not know this. All he knows is the smell of meat as it chars on an open flame. All he knows is his next meal might be found inside. Sorry Mr. Coyote, I am the last of my species. I will not be dinner. Not me. Not today. No sir. Not today.

Flickering flames frolick frantically affixing flavor to the flesh of a female finch whose final fate was to fly past my face and become fire licked food to fuel my fine taste. Sorry little bird, but a man’s gotta eat. These factory sealed cans of beans and diced pineapples can only take me so far. To be honest, after dealing with this for so long, I’d be the first to bet that the idea of veganism would die pretty quickly out here in the apocalypse. Nothing but cans and wild animals. Oh what? No Whole Foods within biking distance to get your organically processed kombucha and kale chips? Veganism would surely be dead, if all the vegans hadn’t bit the dust already. Well, at least the ones who had condescending attitudes died with them. That’s one benefit to the end of the world. All the annoying people are dead.

Another long howl, this time from another direction. The coyote seems to have learned teleportation. Or hell, at least I hope it did. The last thing I need is to be surrounded by a pack of hungry coyotes with no way to get out. That’d be ironic. Penned in the Alamo by wild animals. The new world’s idea of a zoo. Come see the last human alive beg for mercy as he starves to death on a diet of disgusting aluminum encased pseudo-food. Fun fact: This homosapien committed the last heist ever.

The fire is dying down… better throw another Benjamin on it.