INT.  OFFICE SUITE 207.  SECOND FLOOR.  DAY.

The Shooter pauses the tape, focusing in on the corner tv
He nods at the face of the media, the death toll has reached 23
He turns away from the breaking news and puts the recorder down
wiping away heavy sweat from his pale face, with a wincing frown
His hand slides back into his coat, his expression is painfully grim
He looks over his left side, at all the blood that's left him
Closing his eyes with a slow sigh, he reclines back in the chair
the phone sitting on the desk rings out, giving him a jolting scare
Startled, he sits up fast, grunts in pain and turns off the ringer
He scowls at the side window, raising his hand and his middle finger
With an expression of angry confusion, he sits and shakes his head
Then grabbing up the recorder, to add to what he's already said . . . 

"  Funny how They wanna talk now, never gave a shit before
   I guess 23 is the magic number, they don't want 24, or more
   How unfortunate for them, I'm not done playin' this game
   I wanna out score the record holder, never could say his name
  
   But everyone'll remember my name, at least for a little while
   I've got one last big surprise . . . I told ya I'm goin' out in style
   I am a little curious though, who was on the other end of the line ?
   the cops ?  My doctor ?  Or maybe just a good ole friend of mine ?

   But then again, any of my worthless friends,  wouldn't even bother
   Maybe it was ? . . . ( grimacing chuckle)  Maybe it was my father
   That would've been worth pickin' up, last chat with dear ole dad
   definitely worth it, it'd remove any doubts on this I ever had

   I can already hear him, not hard to imagine what he'd say
   I heard all his bullshit before . . .  he'd probably put it this way . . .  "

                       " . . .  You really done it now pudwhacker
                         SWAT team woke me up to talk some sense
                         into your mishappen ganglia of a brainstem
                         congratulations on your final eff up my son

                         wish I was there to kick your ass one more time
                         your Mom always said you were a good boy
                         but I knew you were a screw up and a coward
                         thanks for not disappointing me you dipshit

                         Go ahead and eat your gun now like a man
                         you were always a disappointment to say the least
                         and when you get to hell, give them that attitude
                         you'll wish you were home you titty sucking jerk-off

                         love, daddy . . . "

The Shooter sits quietly, thinking over what 'his father' might've said
anger returns to it's boiling point, his pale face almost  turning red
He takes a slow deep breath, desperately trying to clear his mind
but his mind is a swarm of chaos, too many thoughts in the grind
He sputters at an obscure thought and looks up at the ceiling
Again shaking his head, channeling another hardcore feeling

"  And not to leave you out mom, but I already know what you'd say
   nothing . . .  absolutely nothing,  cuz that was always the best way
   Even when Kathy killed herself . . .  your own fucking daughter
   alls you ever needed mom was a bed, a ton of pills and a glass of water 

He sits and stares at the ceiling, as tears begin to flood his eyes
aggressively he wipes them away, no one's going to hear his cries

"  My times runnin' out, and I sit here in a complete big blank
   all those speeches I made in my head,  all so perfectly frank 
   I did this for this reason, and I did it because of this, this 'n this
   blah blah blah . . .  wicked last words with a smartass kiss

   That's why I brought this shit,  so I could put it all down on tape
   Now what ? Just sit and wait for death ?  There is no escape
   I guess I'll just get on with the big surprise, while I still can
   to be the number one Shooting Star, just follow thru with the plan . . . "


                         
                                          ( to be continued )