PHANTASM

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊: 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕴𝖘 𝕹𝖔 𝕷𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

I never really realize the depth of my problem until I stood at the center of it. Gone with the vibrancy of sunshine and rainbows when all I see is grey and the void beyond it.

My father used to tell me that I have the talents and skills to take on the world. To mark my place, to spread my name, to leave a shadow of myself on history, but not like this.

Not when my name is murmured with a voice of disdain and mockery, not when my reputation is nothing but mud and blood covered with crimes and sins. When people saw my picture through the screen of their television all they could hear and see is a woman marked to be jailed for all her life, sentenced to rot in a small room with no one but her past and guilt.

"You are meant for great things," he said.

"You are special", he said.

" – unique – "

" – talented – "

" – will take the world by storm", he said.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

Father, you lied.

"P... Please..."

His voice trembles, laced with fear. It pricks up my ear, adding another layer of chill to my blackened heart.

"The money..." my voice sounds distant and cold, scratching my throat. A bag was thrown on top of his desk. "Pack up the money. Faster!"

He flinches. Either, he was afraid of the promise of death that carries within my voice or the nuzzle that was pointed at the center of his forehead, he didn't dally and immediately moved to my command.

"The police are coming"

A teammate in overall black with a nude mask steps in my line of sight. He was shifting on his feet, eyes slightly glazed while anxiously fiddling with the gun in his arms.

"I'm aware"

I could hear the sound of sirens from a mile away, driving fast in our direction.

"How many?", he asks.

Nineteen... Twenty-one... Thirty...

"More than a fifty" as soon as the words slip out of my lips, a gunshot was heard followed by a body crashing against the hardwood of the desk.

James' fingers froze from their fiddling, perhaps shock from the sudden occurrence before he found his voice, louder among the screams and shouts of our hostages. "Dude, what the f*ck!"

A look of fear and pain was forever imprinted on the man's face as he lays on his desk, eyes wide and lifeless. A bullet hole was carved on his forehead.

"You killed him!" there was an accusation in his voice. "Why did you kill him? I thought we promise not to kill anyone!"

One of my teammates, Gerald, clicked his tongue as he pulled his gun away, wafts of little smoke came from the nuzzle.

"He's purposely dragging the time until the police get here" he reasons to the rest of us.

James' pursed his lips in a thin line, a silent but small protest on his part. His eyes constantly seek contact with mine, but I lowered my head. My stance is clear on the matter. For I will not fight a losing battle, especially to an authoritative figure of our group.

"Neo..."

Gerald spits out my name as if he swallowed something repulsive and disgusting. Perhaps, he did.

"Pack the rest of the money. Make it fast!" he barks at me before he swings his gun toward the rest of the hostages. "Move or act heroic and you'll die with a bullet in your f*cking head!"

There was blood all over the desk as the dead body of the bank manager leans into his desk, some splatters among the binds of cash and coins. I bit my lip and murmured an apology under my breath before pushing the body out of the way, it crashes on the floor with a few cracks. Adding another pile of guilt and nausea in my stomach.

Hundreds. Thousands. Millions.

I couldn't tell. My body moves on autopilot as I pack everything except the coins inside the bag.

From the distance, I heard the sound of a tire screeching against the pavement as it made a hard turn.

I paused.

"Sh*t! Boss, they're almost here!"

Yu came running from the second floor, binoculars hanging from his long neck. He gravely announces, "They just made a turn to this street. They'll probably arrive in 16-20 minutes."

"I'm done"

The words barely settle before the bag was harshly grabbed from me with a few elbows on my ribs and stomps on my toes as Gerald climb on top of the table with the bag strapped on his left shoulder. My painful groans and teary eyes were covered by the sound of consecutive gunshots as Gerald raised his gun toward the ceiling, seeking our attention.

"We finally got what we came for," he said. "We're leaving."

"What about the hostages?"

The faces of each hostage; elders, teenagers, men, women, and children from 3-8 years old flashed through my mind before they faded into a black-and-white memory. It was better that things are left forgotten, but alas.

"We let them be. They haven't seen or recognized our faces," James turned his head towards him, gaze hardened with a challenge to refute his statement. "Right?"

Silence.

An ominous silence. A terrible feeling.

"Gerald?"

There was a familiar wicked gleam in his eyes. A certain determination. One that I find too well in my own late father's eyes. A determination that leads to a broken promise.

"Kill them..." he emotionlessly says, cold to the point it seems inhumane. "Kill them all."

That's when I understood.

In the eye of the storm, I stood at the center of it. Surrounded by it, and I couldn't even escape. Not without an injury or losing something at least.

When you wished for a ray of light, all you have is darkness. When there is no light, you could only crawl.