Illustrating the tragic lives that ordinary people in action movies such as The Good, The Bad and The Weird must lead.
Kang-ho Jim had spent the morning at market mulling his options for dessert when it happened. He had finished inspecting a stall of ripe melons and was presenting his choice to the shopkeep when a calamitous bang shook the building. The melon he was holding hit the dirt with a splut.
Fuck-a-doodle-doo he thought, and glanced at the shopkeep. The old man pointed with his stare to the exit, and nodded to Kang-ho Jim to peek outside.
Fuck-a-doodle-doo to You too, Kang-ho thought, but crept to the frame.
He was about to poke his nose outside when an explosion ripped the door from its hinges and sent it whizzing in. Kang-ho was propelled back and landed at the far wall. FUCK-A-DOODLE-DOO he thought, batting aside the smoking remnants to see a man in pilot’s goggles shouldering a grenade launcher.
Kang-ho pressed his palms to the dirt to stop the world spinning and tried to launch himself up. Before he could though, the shopkeep brought a hand against his shoulder.
You’re nuts if you’re planning to go outside, he frowned.
Kang-ho nodded and slumped against the wall.
Outside he watched a man in a tailored suit shoot past on a motorbike, one hand clutching a sten gun and spraying lead. He exited the frame but then reappeared as an explosion launched him from the bike. Still clutching his sten gun the man shook his head to clear his senses, then dashed off.
Fuck-a-doodle-poodle, Kang-ho nodded to the shopkeep, and the pair huddled close.
Explosions filled the town, shaking the stalls and sending melons plummeting into the dirt. Pots and pans hanging from the ceiling collided.
Then an errant grenade rolled in.
The next thing Kang-ho Jim knew it was raining splinters, and the scream of bullets had lost place to a high-pitched squeal.
He found himself prostrate where the shop had stood, clutching the shopkeep. The old man’s face was shrouded in blood. Fuck-a-doodle-doo, Kang-ho thought, and forced himself to examine the street.
Platoons of men were unloading lead death into one another. Some wore suits and carried automatic weapons, others wore uniforms and wielded shotguns. Combatants launched themselves from scaffolds and emptied magazines into the ground, then landed safe at another building, and all round carnage reigned.
Kang-ho let go the shopkeep and scrambled to shield himself beneath a dead horse. He clamped his palms across his ears and waited for the end.
Then it came.
Silence ruled where moments ago gunfire had made mayhem of the streets. In the distance Kang-ho could hear the combatants raging, but it appeared they’d gone. Carcaseslittered the roadside. Blood splattered the sides of buildings. Not a whole structure remained.
Kang-ho dusted himself down. He entered the sad remains of the melon shop, picked a ripe specimen and, cradling the thing, walked home.
