Writing 365

Warning – May Emit High Levels of Random

Writing 365 -Purge Night Pizza Delivery

I found this fun writing prompt on a Reddit page:

“On Purge Night part time employees get paid 50 times the hourly rate. You are a pizza delivery guy looking to make big bucks.”

PS: I haven’t actually seen The Purge, but I’ve seen previews and I think I get the gist.

Purge Night Pizza Delivery

One night a year, I load up on armor and guns. I head out on the streets. I feed the hungry. And my pay increases by 50 times.

We get our orders from the boss. He expects us to come up with our own modes of transportation and defense. He only provides the pizza.

Tonight is such a night. It’s Purge night. I head out on my first delivery. It’s twenty blocks away. I put the pizza in its armored bag, strap the bag firmly to the back of my bike and head out.

My motorcycle has been turned into a mini convertible. It is armored on all four sides, bullet proof glass shielding my face as the wind sweeps over me. The puncture-proof tires grip the road, allowing me to turn on a dime. I’m ready to deliver.

The route is relatively quiet, which makes me suspicious. I find out why when I get to the house. Spike strips are set at 1-yard intervals down the entire block. People are going hand-to-hand, facing off in an uncontrolled melee. The house I want is half way up the block. It’s time to get in on the action.

I strap the kevlar box containing the hot pie to my back. I need to get this delivery there within thirty minutes or my fee is cut by half. I check my watch. Only fifteen minutes until time is up. I eye the street. I can make it in ten.

I leave my bike on sleep mode. It will only respond to my fingerprint and retinal scan. If someone wants the bike, they’ll have to kill me first and drag my cooling body to the bike – which is always a possibility on Purge night.

The spikes make it impossible to run through the mob, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m wearing fitted armor plating and my bullet proof bike helmet. It’s going to be hard to cut me down.

I launch myself into the crowd, finding gaps and paths between fighters. I know I’m drawing attention, but these pies are prepaid and, as long as the bag signals my boss with a safe delivery in under 30 minutes, I don’t care what happens to the customer.

On a lawn two houses into the block, I find myself faced with my first opponent. He’s a huge man carrying a 9MM pump-action shotgun. I see the gleam in his eye as he begins to raise the weapon, so I step in close before he can get the gun up fully and push him into the hand-to-hand fight going on behind him. Distracted, he disappears in the struggle.

I am not able to dodge my next opponent so handily. She bursts out from the bushes lining the house next door to my target, bearing a cleaver and an ax. She looks like she’s practiced all year for this. I throw up my hands and tell her “I’m just here to deliver the pizza.”

That confuses her for a moment. Her split second hesitation is all I need to bring my blowgun up. I dart her in the neck and she passes out. The toxin lining my darts isn’t poisonous. It just puts my opponent to sleep. I drag her back under the bushes, where she will likely be safe from random violence and gingerly pluck out the dart with my gloved fingers.

At the target house, I follow the instructions given to me by my boss. I find the armored slot and type 5193 into the keypad. The slot opens and I pull out the pie.

“Pizza delivery!” I call as I slide the box through. I re-sling my pizza box and type in my code to tell my boss the delivery is completed five minutes early. My phone buzzes and I see the money transfer for only 30 minutes of work. The client apparently left a hefty tip. Some people will do anything for a large meat lover’s.

The End

That one went a little long, but I really enjoyed writing it. See you tomorrow for another short!


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