fragments (Exit)

...Jim thought about Sarah, about the scream after shooting; it could be hers. He nervously swallowed a larger gulp, chasing the scary thought away. He wondered why he has so much nonsense in his head today. He could not relate it to the luck of alcohol, for the last five minutes he had more than enough of the medication in his system to cure him from the delirium. He was very nervous. And he did not know why?
Tom continued to talk about unfairness of life and being OK with it. All was so distant, so far away from Jim’s attention, and only the sound of Tom’s voice, mixed with Frank Sinatra’s playing overhead, was penetrating this strange blissfulness, a blissfulness of the abyss when you are already on the way down and fear is not a factor anymore. It was the blissfulness of surrender, when no one and nothing can touch you anymore, because Death already staked her claim. The sound of the police siren bounced in Tom’s scull from left to right, adding volume with each turn. Jim realized that while he took a short cut to the bar, the police chaise ran a circle and met him here.
In a few more moments car crash somewhere close announced its arrival. Then more cars with wailing sirens, dropping speed in seconds, stopped abruptly outside the bar. Jim was repeating in his mind “it’s just a bad dream… just a bad dream…”
Suddenly the walls of the bar start to move closer and closer, collapsing, invading Jim’s personal space. Still, suffocating smell crawled in his lungs, swelling inside and cementing his airways. Jim needed a breath of fresh air immediately; he was about to collapse. His lungs were struggling; his brain was starving for oxygen. He was on the way to the door in a split second, coughing vigorously and clenching his throat with both hands.
Forceful punch opened the door in a moment when Jim was about a foot away from the doorknob, leaving him hidden from the slightly limping man, rushing inside. The door rebounded quickly back. Jim let himself out. He noticed the blue pick-up, leaning on the electric pole.
“Hands behind your head!!” from his left.
“On the ground!!” from his right.
To his horror, Jim realized that he is a suspect. With the speed of light and pounding heaviness of a thunder all the pain, appointments and hardships of his life surfaced up. and suddenly he saw a door, an exit. Perhaps his destiny finally looked upon him with pity; perhaps the shocking reality of the moment woke him up and granted clarity, never known before. He made his decision calmly and fast. He thought of a wrinkled grocery bag with the Santa hat, that he stuffed earlier in his back pocket... . He reached for it...
“Nooooo..” from his right.
“Bang! Bang!” from his left.
“It’s a f…ing Santa!” from his right.
Violent blow hit his chest. He felt no pain. He was falling backwards, tilting to the right. He automatically extended his hands to break the fall. He never touched the ground. And the Frank Sinatra’s voice was drifting into the fog, into the darkness like the last boat on the waters of Styx.