Stick 'em up

Connor trembled. Until this very moment, he’d never considered the difficulty of staying perfectly still. As he stared down the barrel of the gun it became abundantly apparent. His hands shook as he fought the urge to wipe away the sweat stinging his eyes.

‘Hurry up!’ The man screamed. ‘I’ll fucking kill him. MOVE QUICKER!’

Connor closed his eyes and prayed that his colleagues would move with the speed of Hussain Bolt. The money should already be in the bag by now. What was taking them so long? Couldn’t they see the gun to his head?

He didn’t dare look. The irate man had said not to move a muscle, which was precisely what he intended to do; the most important game of musical statues he would ever play. He wasn’t the hero type. He was the do as you're told and go home to your children type.

He opened his eyes again, hoping the view would have changed somehow, but the gun seemed closer now, almost pressing between his eyes. He wasn’t aware he was becoming cross-eyed as he stared down the barrel. He gulped and closed his eyes again. His muscles burned as he kept them tense. He had the awful feeling he was swaying. If he fainted, would they shoot him?

The sounds of a scuffle erupted behind him. His stomach dropped as what colour was left drained from his face.

An earth-shattering bang echoed between his ears. The room fell instantly dark.