JACOB AUSTIN - SHORT-STORIES

Jacob Austin is an inspiring writer who writes about situations he had faced before. He has won previous accolades including a Broward county district literary fair award. He is currently at Full Sail University trying to Pursue his career in novel and script writing.

​The Choice

​                   “God morgon, Emil. why are you still in bed, it's almost noon,” Anton said walking to his brother’s bed and pulling the blankets off of him.
                  Emil looked at his brother yelled, “Sluta dumskalle,” before pulling his blankets back over his body.
                Anton raised one eyebrow higher than the other. He said “Okej,” and went to the kitchen and grabbed an ice-cold glass of water.
              When he busts through Emil’s door, before he could pour the water all over his bed, Emil poked his head from the covers and shouted, “I'm going to tell mom and dad today.”
             Dazed, Anton put down the glass of water on the nightstand and sat on Emil’s bed. “What the hell man, are you sure? You’re only fourteen how do you know for sure?”
           “Because…. I think about it, I feel it, when I look in the mirror it's not me in the mirror. It’s someone else, Anton,” Emil said, shaking. “No, I can't, I don't want to ruin our family. Forget I said anything,” Emil said before looking away. The sun hiding behind the clouds, and the cold droplets of water running down the side of the glass cup was the entire atmosphere in the room.
         “Emil, you’re my lillebror I’ll love you no matter what. I'm pretty sure mom and dad will feel the same way. Who cares if dad is from the south? Mom won’t make you regret your decision. For fuck’s sake she is Swedish, they have no problem for people like you.”
        “That’s exactly what I'm scared of. Mom being from Sweden and dad being from Alabama terrifies me.”
      “The only terrifying thing about that is how dad scored with a Swedish woman. But tell me, Emil. How exactly are you feeling right now?”
 
 
      Emil’s face was pale. He was still shaking by the thought of even bringing up this conversation in the first place. His stomach and nerves were going to war in his body. He felt the throw-up rise to his throat, only to go back down and repeat every three minutes. Everything about this conversation made Emil want to be dead.
    “How am I feeling right now? I wish someone could put the barrel of a .38 to my head and pull the trigger. Look at me Anton. I'm not doing this today. I refuse to be the reason-.” Emil stopped his sentence if he was afraid of what Anton would do to him.
   “Come on lillebror finish the sentence,” Anton said calmly but menacingly. “Say it so I know how you really feel. You never want to “open up” to anyone, so let me know. Var inte en tik, don't be a little bitch speak up. I don't want you to do anything that'll really tear this family apart. Stop being so fearful about yourself.”
       Anton was right. Emil had so much bottled up in fear of what everyone would think about him that he never told anyone except Anton anything. You would think in 2020 even in Alabama everyone would accept somebody being openly gay without giving you dirty looks, but that's not the case for Emil. Emil was 5’3, 120lbs and had zero percent of body fat. He was the epitome of a kid anyone would pick on. That’s why he stays quiet, has no friends, and bottles up all his emotions. He’s afraid of society and how people will view him.
    Emil let out a sigh. He leaned back against his headboard and looked up at his massive 7x8 foot Swedish flag on the wall. Emil knew who exactly who he was. Looking at his Swedish flag gave him the courage that was hiding underneath all the regret, pain and fear. The water from the glass stopped falling. The sun escaped the huge wall of the clouds letting out the light it so desperately wanted.
    Emil sat back up, lightly punched Anton’s arm and said with a smile, “okej storebror, jag ska berätta för dem, i'm going to tell them.”
    Anton smiled back and said, “på tiden about time, come I’ll go with you.”
They both got up from Emil’s bed and proceeded to their parent’s room. Before leaving the room, Emil turned and gave one last glance at his Swedish flag and muttered the words “snälla låt mig inte, please don't let me down.” and closed his room door.
 
   
  

​   The murder on 54th 

​          “Hey Richie, did you get those kilos I asked you for?” said Mr.1
            “Yes, I got your damn kilos. Now leave me alone,” said Richie. Richie was a new runner for Mr.1’s business. He didn’t ask for this job, more like grandfathered in after his dad got too old and retired from the game. 
             “Good boy. Just like your father. Never disappoints,” Mr.1 said, holding up four kilos of meth. He puts the meth in a duffel bag, zips it up, and hands it to Richie. 
             Richie is confused. “What the hell do you want me to do with this shit now?” he asked while taking two steps back. His face grew a huge concerned look, like a person who just received terrible news. “That’s it we agreed on this one job. I-I-I- I’m out man.”
             Mr.1 slowly puts down his duffel bag and says menacingly, “you aren’t out of shit. You are my new runner, and if you have any problems, we can easily solve this,” he said pulling back his long black trench coat, revealing a .44 magnum pistol.
           Richie’s face grew pale white and out of pure terror and shock he picked up the duffle bag and stuttered the words “ok-ok-ok where d-d-d-do you want me to deliver it to.
           “The hotel on 54th street. Go to room 26. I have a couple of… loyal buyers, and they're expecting that package by tonight.” he takes his hands off his .44 magnum and pulls out a 9mm pistol from his pants holster. “Here dick, you'll need this.”
           Richie felt his stomach turn and knot up. He almost threw up by the sight of Mr.1 handing him the gun. “Why do i need a pistol?” he asked in a very shaky broken tone.
         Mr.1 rolled his eyes in anger and yelled “What if you get two timed and they try to rob and kill you? Do you ever think? Damn maybe you are nothing like your father. Look at you, pissing yourself. Grow a fucking spine and take the gun and get out of here.” he shoved the gun in Richie’s chest.
         Richie took a deep breath and grabbed the gun. He went to his car and threw the duffel bag in the backseat. Before pulling off he pulled down his mirror. “Okay look, you need to stop being a scared man. I know this isn’t the life you asked for, but this is the life that has been given to you. Don’t mess up this opportunity. Either die early or live a long life as a criminal.” he took a deep breath and pulled out the parking lot. 
         He arrived at the hotel on 54th street. He walked through the door nervous but composed, gun holstered on his belt, just in case. He made it to room 26. Before knocking he took another deep breath and put on a blank face to show no signs of fear. He knocked on the door and not even five seconds later, the door opened. It was a well-dressed man around six foot with a white button up shirt and a tie on.
       “Come in,” he said in a very deep mono-toned voice, almost like he was trying to sound tough. 
        Richie walked in and saw a girl sitting on the bed. She had on a hijab covering her entire face and long bell bottom pants. 
       “You got the drugs?” she asked. 
       “Yes, I have them,” Richie said. He dropped the duffel bag in front of the beds and kicked it over to the patio door located on the side of the bed.
      They looked at each other. The man opened the duffel bag still on the ground and when he realized that all four kilos were in the bag, he zipped it up and nodded at the lady. They both looked at Richie. 
    The lady said “okay kid get outta here,” waving her hands in a shoo motion.
    “Nah i can't do that. I need that money,” Richie said with his chest poked out. 
    The lady signed and gave a hand gesture at the man.
    The man pulled out a pistol and aimed it point blank at Richie’s head.
   Richie felt the cold steel of the barrel. A couple drops of sweat appeared on his temple but he kept his composure. Richie slightly turned his body to the left like he was going to walk away. His hand ever so slightly followed the motion to his shift, leading his hand to his holster. He stopped 90 degrees. His body facing the bed, left side facing the door and his right side facing the barrel of the gun. He turned his head and smiled. 
     “What are you smil--.” the man couldn’t finish his sentence.
      Richie shot him squared in the chest. He moved too fast for the man to even react.
    The lady let out a blood querttling scream.
   Richie looked at her with cold dark eyes. He aimed the pistol at her and shot her once between her eyes. Adrenaline rushing through his blood, he quickly ran out the hotel on 54th street, hopped in his car and took off back towards the hotel Mr.1 was staying at.