What Goes Pop in The Night

by Ben Lyle Bedard
illustration by Ans Purins

I flick the cigarette into the empty, trash-strewn fountain, and sit down heavily, the gunshot still ringing in the air. I toss the gun to one side, letting it clatter on the pavement. One dead fuck. One less person in this godforsaken world. I wipe my forehead. I tend to sweat quite a bit when I pop someone. Just one of those things, I guess.

I look up to where there is some monument to the Civil War. Like anyone gives a fuck, like people don’t piss on it drunk, as if the damn thing mattered. I don’t like that monument. I saw a guy throw up on it once. He just leaned over and puked all over the horse. It was really red puke, too. I didn’t know whether to pop the guy or laugh. I just walked by in the end. I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why I didn’t.

For that matter, I don’t know why I do anything that I do. I just don’t really care about what I do, I guess. Take that guy there on the pavement who I just popped. Don’t know why I did that. Just pop! and the dumb fuck is dead. Huh. Weird. He didn’t really do anything except feed the pigeons and seagulls. I hate people who feed them fuckin’ birds. I don’t even know why I do. I just do.

And to tell the truth, I didn’t really pop the guy. I just said that because I felt like it. I haven’t popped anyone. I don’t even like guns. I’m just sitting here by this fountain with all the trash in it, imagining that I popped that guy. I just like to imagine that I pop people. You know, just sit there, pick out people in the crowd who look like they deserve a good popping, point an imaginary gun at them and pop! dead. People just piss me off. I think there’re too many goddamn people. I’d like to pop a few of them, but I won’t. I don’t know why I won’t. Probably ’cause I ain’t got the nerve.

Not that I don’t like anyone. I usually like people. They usually like me. Thing is, I wander through the city, and I just begin to imagine popping people. Someone falls here, someone falls there. Usually when I imagine popping people, I don’t imagine the blood. I don’t know why. I just don’t. They just kinda fall, soft and easy, like they were going to sleep.

You know who I really like to imagine popping? I mean, besides people who feed pigeons and seagulls? I like to imagine popping the people who come out of those ritzy hotels. Pop! Down they go in their pressed suits. Or people who bump me in the subway. Pop! Down they go. Not in a rush anymore, are you? Or people coming out of that stupid bar. You know, the one the TV show Cheers was based on. Pop! Down they go, still holding their stupid bags, filled with stupid T-shirts about a stupid TV show. Actually, I kind of like that TV show, I just don’t like the people that come out of that bar.

I used to think I was weird for imagining all these things, but I don’t anymore. I think that everyone imagines popping someone once in a while. I knew this guy once who wanted to pop people from his roof. At random – just pop! pop! pop! He was pretty normal, too. He had one of these tit jobs where you sit at a desk all day. All he ever did was go to work and watch basketball. He was a big basketball freak. He hated Jordan. I don’t know why I mention this, I just thought I would.

Then there was this other guy, well, a girl. She wanted to push people onto the subway tracks when a train was coming. She didn’t know why. She just got the urge to. She said she’d been waiting for the Red Line (for some reason, it was always the Red Line) and she’d see someone standing close to the edge. There’s always someone standing close to the edge. Anyway, she’d just get this urge to give them a shove. It didn’t matter, she said, who it was. It could be an old lady or anyone, and she’d still want to give them the shove. She said she really felt guilty about it afterwards, but she always had that urge.

She’s pretty normal, too. She’s a teacher or some shit, married to my brother. That’s why I say she’s pretty normal. You can’t be too normal if you’re married my brother. I don’t know why I mention that, I just thought I would.

Anyway, I think that people just want to pop other people. You know, give them a shove or something. I’ve been thinking quite a bit about it. Sometimes I think that if one day, everyone just got up and decided to finally give that shove or pop, everyone would just start popping everyone. Kinda gives me the creeps.

That’s just stupid though, because no one, well, hardly no one, really pops anyone. Something stops them. It’s not the cops either. That’s not why, because I read somewhere that most murderers get away with it. They don’t ever get caught. So if people wanted to pop someone, they could and get away with it. I think so, anyway.

I mean, take this guy sitting next to me, feeding the goddamn birds. I could pop him. There’s no one around. Only me and him. And the fuckin’ birds. I could reach in my pocket, pull out a gun (if I had one), pop him a good one, and then walk away. I’d take a subway to a bridge, toss the gun away, go home, and watch that TV show. I bet I wouldn’t get caught. How could they possibly find me? I don’t know this guy, he doesn’t know me. I have no reason to pop him. He’s never done anything to me. How could they find me? They couldn’t.

But I’m not gonna pop him, even though he just threw some more popcorn to the birds, even though he probably just came from that bar, even though he could have pissed on that monument up there, even though he probably stays in one of those fancy fuckin’ hotels where they don’t call you to make sure you check out exactly on time.

I wonder why I don’t? Probably because I don’t want to be popped. Or because it ain’t right to just pop someone off for feeding birds. Sure wish he’d stop feeding those fuckin’ birds though. Or maybe we don’t pop people because we’re scared of watching them die. Maybe that’s why I don’t imagine the blood. Huh. I don’t know.

I’m just sure that I’m not going to be the one standing at the edge of the platform, waiting for the Red Line.