I'm not asking to see what changed well I am but I want you to tell me which is better written
Jordan closed the refrigerator and stared at the empty shelves.
He'd finished the leftovers last night. Nothing remained now. Not even the condiment bottles had anything left worth scraping out.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled fifty-dollar bill. Last one until next Thursday.
The hoodie hung on the chair. Jordan grabbed it and pulled the hood up before heading out.
Five minutes to the corner store. He kept his head down the entire time, counting cracks in the sidewalk. Fewer people to make eye contact with that way. Fewer chances for someone to look at him the way people at his job did. The way strangers did when they passed him on the street.
The electronic chime announced his arrival. Jordan gave the cashier a small nod without lifting his head and got one back. He'd been coming here long enough that the guy had stopped giving him that look,the one everyone else still did. Took a while. But repetition worked eventually.
Jordan headed straight for the chips aisle.
One snack with dinner. That was the rule he'd made himself. He could stick to it.
He grabbed a bag of the hottest flavor they had and turned toward the frozen section.
Screaming erupted from the front of the store.
"Shut the fuck up and just give me the money!"
Jordan froze. The bag crinkled against his palm.
His hands shook before his mind caught up.
BANG.
The gunshot echoed through the aisles.
"Hurry up! I don't have all day!"
The bag slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.
He dropped into a crouch and moved toward the front. The aisles ran diagonal through the store, giving him a clear line of sight to the glass doors.
He could make it if he ran now. Guy probably wouldn't even see him.
"Psst. Hey, kid."
Jordan turned his head.
A man crouched in the next aisle, half-hidden behind cereal boxes. Military uniform. Buzz cut. Hands tight around his phone.
"I know what you're thinking. Don't do it. Someone already called the police. They should be outside any second now. Just sit back and wait."
Wait.
Jordan looked at the uniform again. Hands shaking around the phone.
Wait for the cops. Wait for negotiations. Wait to see who panicked first.
Yeah. No.
He turned and kept crawling.
"What an idiot," the man muttered behind him.
You're the one who called the cops to a robbery you're hiding inside.
Jordan didn't stop.
He made it to the end of the aisle. Only a few feet from the door now. The robber and the cashier were both out of sight. Probably in the back room where they kept the safe.
Jordan pushed himself off the floor and bolted.
BANG.
He stopped.
Not because of the sound.
Because his ear was gone.
Jordan dropped to his knees. Heat spread down his neck. The ringing in his skull drowned out everything else….just the high-pitched whine and warmth turning wet against his collar.
He turned his head.
The man in the military uniform stood at the end of the aisle, gun raised. His mouth moved but Jordan couldn't hear the words.
Of course it was you.
Jordan dragged himself toward the door. Inch by inch.
The man fired again. The bullet passed so close Jordan felt the air split.
His vision tunneled. Everything went dark.
~
Jordan woke to someone kicking his leg.
He sat up fast, gasping as the world tilted. His hands found the floor and pressed down until the spinning slowed.
Still inside the store.
"Nice of you to join us, fatass."
He turned toward the voice. Three men stood near the checkout counter, all holding rifles. One of them was the military guy. The other two wore black masks and tactical gear.
So the guy with the uniform wasn't military at all. Just another robber wearing a costume.
"We wrapped up your ear for you. Can't have our hostages dying."
Jordan touched the side of his head. Soft tissue. Bandages. His fingers came away sticky.
Ten other people sat against the far wall, mouths taped shut, hands bound with zip ties. The cashier who'd stopped looking at him wrong. Now just another face pressed against the wall.
None of them had tried to run. They'd all waited like they were told.
And they still ended up here.
"Now that you're up, you can be useful." The military man nodded to one of the masked guys, who walked over and hauled Jordan to his feet.
The world tilted again. Jordan's legs barely held him.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To negotiate. Now move."
They dragged him back through the aisles toward the front of the store. Dark outside now. Jordan had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. The street pulsed with red and blue lights flashing across the pavement, cutting through the glass doors in steady bursts.
"Are you sure this is gonna work, boss?" one of the masked men asked. "All this for a thousand?"
"I didn't think they'd send this many," the military man said. "Now I'm improvising."
Improvising. They were risking their lives — his life — for a few thousand dollars, and this guy was making it up as he went.
He grabbed Jordan's arm and yanked him toward the door.
They stepped outside.
At least thirty officers crouched behind cars and barricades, rifles trained on the entrance. Snipers on the roof across the street. Spotlights cutting through the dark.
All this firepower for three idiots and a thousand dollars.
A voice boomed through a megaphone. "Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your backs!"
The military man ignored it and shoved Jordan forward, keeping one hand on his shoulder. "Put the person in charge on the mic!"
A few seconds passed. Then a different voice came through the speaker. Female.
"What are your demands?"
"We have a hostage right here and forty more inside. This one needs a doctor, he was shot in the ear. Without proper medical attention, he'll die." The man's grip tightened. "We want an unmarked vehicle, safe passage, one million dollars, fuel, and a news anchor."
Silence.
Then: "Deal. But we need that hostage in front of you to get treated. You give us him and five more hostages, and you have a deal."
One of the masked men turned sharply, eyes wide behind the balaclava. The military man didn't look at him.
"Deal."
He grabbed Jordan's arm and shoved him forward. Before letting go, he leaned in close.
"It was nice knowing you, fatty."
Jordan's jaw clenched. He didn't say anything.
The man pushed him. Jordan stumbled but didn't fall, walking toward the police line on unsteady legs. Each step felt lighter than the last.
He was going to make it.
Then he realized.
The robbers had just lost their leverage. They had nothing keeping the police from opening fire.
And Jordan was still in the middle.
BANG.
A shot cracked through the air. One of the masked men behind him jerked and collapsed.
Jordan ran.
Pavement under his feet. Air burning in his throat. Legs pumping. The hood slipped back. Cold air on his face. Feet hitting concrete again and again.
"Hey, fatty!"
Faster.
BANG.
The bullet entered the back of his head and exited through the front.
Jordan's body hit the pavement.
His last thought flickered through the dark.
Finally my suffering is over