All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
It was a blistering hot summer in Gulf Shores, Alabama. All the children were down at the beach sprinting across the sand as if it were scolding hot coals fresh from the barbecue grill. The month was July. The day was Monday the 16th. The day I will never forget. It all started normally. The family and I were outside on the porch observing the neighborhood. Teenagers playing basketball on the blacktop court across from our house. Little kids riding trikes up and down the weed-infested sidewalk. Once in a while, a car would pass, and children would chase after it to get the nice, cool breeze from the accelerating car. But one certain car caught my eye. It was a pitch black sedan with tinted windows so dark that I thought I was looking at oil. I just shrugged and went on with my business.
“Babe,” I called.
“What?” she replied?
“I have to go back to the police station to check up on an upcoming case. I’ll be back around seven, ‘kay hon?” I said back to her.
“Just be back before the children come back from the beach,” she answered as I opened the old, creaky screen door.
I began my long grueling walk in the intense heat toward my place of employment. But something wasn’t right. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I thought nothing of it. I resumed my long walk toward the police station. Suddenly it hit me; there wasn’t a single living sound anymore. The birds stopped their excited chatter, the children across the street playing basketball were gone, and the children riding their tricycles ventured off to God knows where. I still kept up my strides for what seemed like eternity. As I rounded the corner, I saw that black sedan again. It was stopped at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Harris. Once again, I thought nothing of it. I kept on trudging towards the police station. As I passed by, I got a look through the front windshield of this mysterious car.
I had to take a double take as I passed. This must have been the oddest man I’ve ever seen. His face was like a block of roughly cut steel. This man’s face was, how could I put this, square. His head barely skimmed over the steering wheel. He couldn’t have been taller than 4 feet. This man was short. I kept taking little glances at him. Every time a stole a glance, he would seem to be staring right at me with his beady little eyes.
I just ignored it and kept moving forward. It all seemed peaceful until an ear piercing CRACK broke the silence. I whipped around to see three full grown men in black suits sprinting for the black sedan. The door shot open as they dove in. The car tires squealed trying to find traction. The black sedan’s tires grabbed the pavement and shot down the street, right at me! I dove to avoid the speeding sedan and smashed into something, hard.
As soon as my head stopped spinning, I looked up to see that a dove right into an oak tree. As I took in my surroundings, I could still see the sediment in the air from the speeding car. The car was long gone. I soon remembered the gunshot from the Harris house. I made my way there to examine the scene.
I stepped through the ripped screen door to strange site. There was no one there. I began a closer examination of the house. As I tip-toed through the kitchen and into the living room, there was still no sign of the Harris residents. I began my ascent of the creaky stairs. As I made my way into the children’s room, I set my eyes upon the weirdest sight of all. The children were bound and gagged in the corner of the room. I slowly crouched and began my walk towards the children. I could sense fear and tension in the room. I heard a small, but definite creak of the stairs. I looked out the window and felt my heart sink. The black sedan was back! I went onto my hands and knees and quickly, but quietly, made my way to the door to close it. I was about halfway across the room when I realized the sad truth. The children’s parents had been killed by these mysterious men. I dove for the door to close it. But stupid me, I was more injured than I thought and landed on my shoulder about halfway through the roll.
“AAAAHHHHHHH”, I screamed in agonizing pain. At the moment, I thought I dislocated my shoulder.
“Hey, someone else is up there with those annoying brats!” I heard one of the men yell.
I heard footsteps pounding on the way upstairs. This would be my one and only chance. I lurched forward and slammed the door with my leg. The door slammed shut and someone screamed. I saw fingers protruding from the closed door. I vomited in mouth a little.
Soon that door would fly open with a fingerless enraged man and probably put a bullet in my brain. I had to work fast. I wriggled my way to the kids to untie them. Suddenly, the floor started to explode with splinters. They were shooting bullets into the ceiling from downstairs. It didn’t stop me. Three feet, two feet, almost there, out of nowhere I felt a sharp pain in my side and on my back at the same time. I lifted my head to look back. I almost lost my breakfast. What I saw was I pool of blood underneath my body. I had been shot in my abdomen. I looked back to the children to see there horror struck faces. This was the end.
As I lay there in defeat I heard something, an all too familiar noise to me, a police siren. This was my last glimmer of hope in the darkness. As they got louder, the sounds of the thugs downstairs became quieter. As the blare of the sirens grew, the less the bullet wound hurt. Soon, the police would be here to take me to the hospital.
A heard the crackle of the tires on the loose rocks outside the Harris house.
“Hey! Hey!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.” I’m up here with injured children! Hey!” I heard the EMTs and the police rush into the door downstairs and then rushing up the old creaky stairs towards my location.
“Hey! Hey!” I screamed again.
Men burst into the room with pistols drawn.
“There’s children in the room, proceed with caution.” I heard one of them say in a harsh whisper.
After a few seconds of hesitation and some examination, they realized there was no true threat. They untied the children and hoisted them away. I lay there waiting to be whisked away by EMTs, but they never arrived. I noticed a black silhouette of a man in the corner. He slowly emerged from the shadowy corner. I looked at him and he looked at me with a face that I recognized. But I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then it struck me. I thought this couldn’t be. This man sped away in the black sedan. With that steel-cut face and his short physique, it was the driver! He smirked at me and slid his hand into his pocket.
What he came out with whipped my new found confidence away. His hand protruded with a shiny silver Desert Eagle. What he did next was not what I saw coming. He took his shiny pistol and through it to me.
“They’ll be coming, One bullet, for you or for them.” He said with a little chuckle as he exited the room. I lay there on the ground bleeding out, and I thought to myself that this could be my last hour.
I heard the police cars and the ambulances pull out. But I heard another car come rumbling down the road. I gathered all my remaining energy to make my way over to the window. The dislocated shoulder didn’t help at all. As I pulled myself up using the window sill, I saw what I feared the most, the black sedan.
I looked at the gun, then back at the men jumping out of the ominous car. I decided to do something drastic. I slowly moved the gun up to my head. My arm fell to the ground. I tried to gather the mental strength. I knew this would be my last moment on earth. I lifted the gun, with tears streaming down my face; I started to mentally thank everything that entered my life. Goodbye life.
As I heard the men dashing upstairs, I took the gun and tossed it to the ground. As the men burst through the door, I stood up with all the energy I could muster, adrenaline rushing through my veins. With their guns drawn, I made one last attempt at life and attacked.