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Tip, Tap, BANG
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap
It had stopped raining about 15 minutes ago, but the world around me was still wet. Water slowly dripped onto the outside of my window. I listened as the wind roared against the glass, threatening to break it.
Tip tap woosh, tip tap
It was colder than the night before had been and I didn’t expect it to be this cold. I hoped it would get warmer as the night went on, but alas it would only get cooler.
I had been in bed for about an hour now and I was still hoping for some sleep before the sun rose above the trees, but something felt strange. I felt a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach as if someone was watching me. I had been trying to shrug it off and go to sleep, but I couldn’t.
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap
Another 20 minutes went by and I still couldn’t sleep. The feeling in my stomach wouldn’t go away no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. All I could do was wait.
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap
The rain was almost peaceful as I started to drift. Soon, I was able to completely ignore the feeling in my stomach and sleep.
Tip tap. Tip tap. BANG
I sat straight up. Instantly my palms started to sweat and my stomach reminded me of that uneasy feeling. I new what it was, but I couldn’t fully comprehend it. I jumped out of bed and crept down the steps as quietly and quickly as I could. When I got to the bottom, I peaked around the corner to see what was going on. There were two men I had never met. One was on the floor- dead. The other was standing over him with a gun.
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap
I don’t remember much from what happened next. All I remember is instinctively running up the stairs to my moms room and getting the gun she kept hidden for emergencies. I ran back down and pointed the gun at the man standing up. I had only fired it once before and it was years ago, but I could still remember how. I told the man to freeze and put his hands up. When he did, my vision blurred and I zoned out, but the last thing I remember from that night, is
Tip, tap, BANG

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This piece is more of a short story than a poem, but it has a special rythem or movement when you read it.
What do you think happens next?