It Was A Year

June 2, 2012
By vancanfan03 BRONZE, Lenexa, Kansas
vancanfan03 BRONZE, Lenexa, Kansas
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"When writing a novel a writer should create living people; people not characters. A character is a caricature." -Ernest Hemingway

It’s been a year to the day since Preston died. The thing that bothered me most about it was that it should have been me. All I wanted now was to go back in time and take the bullet that pierced his heart for him. His contagious smile and bright blue eyes on that charismatic face deserved life. Preston was my best friend and losing him was like ripping part of my life away from me. I thought back on that day with the feeling of grief taking over my mind.
(One year prior…)

I crouched closely next to Preston as we both peered over a storage crate in the large warehouse. He handed me his Swiss Army knife, his only line of defense. I looked over the top of the crate carefully as I felt the knife with my fingers. Only a few yards in front of us were two armed guards standing in front of two highly ranked mobsters. We’d just escaped from our cell; I couldn’t even fathom how we’d gotten involved in all this! One day someone hands Preston and I a large sack of cash and the next we’re kidnapped and nearly executed. What – a – mess.

Preston crouched lower, tucking his lean calves under him and a hand in front, the top of his head no longer peaking over the crate.”Whatever happens, you get out of here first, okay?” he said directed at me. He pushed his straight brown hair from his face and stared into my green eyes.

“Okay”, I said, nodding in submissive agreement. I had a hopeful feeling that there was still a chance of us both getting out alive. I scanned the room like a hummingbird for an exit while I carefully pulled my hair back with a rubber band from my wrist. I saw a door cracked open and excitement grew inside me. Out that door was the front entrance to the warehouse! Freedom! “Preston, on the count of three we both sprint for that door”, I whispered to him.

“Alright”, he replied. “One…” Each second felt like years. “Two…” Anticipation welled up inside me more than pressure in a soda bottle. “Three!”

We ran, no, flew to the door. That’s when I heard them. Gunshots, then pain shooting up my arm and thy. I was hit, and slid across the floor behind a crate. Preston was soon by my side, digging the bullets from by crying muscles. “No, Preston! Run! Leave me!” I screamed. But he wouldn’t. He was the most stubborn person I knew.

The guards ran over to us and readied their guns for the kill shot. Right as the first guard was about to shoot me, Preston lunged at him and wrenched the gun from his hands. He knocked him out with the end of the gun and turned to the second guard who was already taking his aim. Preston managed to get the guard off his balance to buy time. “Run, Leslie!” he screamed at me. I painfully limped at quickly as I could toward the door, turning around as I was about to leave the terrors of the warehouse. I saw Preston on the ground and the guard aiming his gun at my chest. I froze. Preston jumped up from the ground right as the trigger was pulled, and the bullet went through his heart. He turned around and looked at me with the last of his strength, tears in both of our eyes. “I love you”, he mouthed, then he fell to the floor, dead.

I ran and didn’t look back. I ignored the pain in my leg and the lack of sight I experienced from my tears and sobs. Hiding myself behind a dumpster, I managed to evade the mobsters until the police came to investigate the gunshots. It took me a month to heal all the way, but the wounds inflicted through my loss of Preston will never heal.
The End.

The author's comments:
I was given a prompt in class and couldn't think of any ideas. The paper was due first thing the next morning, and I had a blank page. Finally, after a week of thinking, trying, and failing, I came up with this.

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