The last vestiges of fall had passed and only brown, shriveled leaves remained on the sidewalk. Trees appeared naked, shivering without their blanket of color. Cold air blew through their skinny, lifeless branches, tossing the trees around as though they were mere sticks rather than giants. She shuddered as the chilly wind kissed her brow, leaving a wretched disease of ice and sorrow in its wake. Within this wintry prison there was no joy, there was no warmth, and, above all, there was no diversity. A monotony of brown and black dotted the decrepit neighborhood as nature wallowed in misery at the loss of her radiance.
“It’s just a little thin on top,” her grandfather would have said.
She wished it were still fall. Winter and summer were extremes …show more content…
She heard gunfire.
It was an awful booming sound that startled her out of her thoughts and froze her in the middle of her step. It was close, too close.
Who—what—? Her thoughts ran disoriented laps and, for a terrifying second, she just stood there with a blank mind and a frozen heart.
What—what should I do? She’d never been in a situation like this—and she’d never expected to be! Who would prepare so systematically for death?
Her breathing became sparse; her heartbeat began to spiral out of control.
She frantically looked back and forth, sideways and up, for any sign of life. Any sign of the terror that had resonated in her ears.
When no such life appeared, her heartbeat only accelerated. It was quiet again—as if the night was trying to coax her into a false sense of security, luring her to declare the event a figment of her imagination.
And yet, despite the silence, she still heard the gunshot as clearly as any audio recording; it repeated over and over within her head, like a countdown.
She trembled. She was afraid to move.
But . . . she was also afraid to …show more content…
. .
The gun rapped her in the back and she flinched, feeling its chill even through her jacket. She tried to restrain her tears, but her dams burst and out sprung her searing, liquid soul. The boy stared at her, expressionless, lifeless.
He, too, had cried.
“Turn around,” a gruff voice commanded. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she slowly turned to face him.
Why . . . Why must our lives be sacrificed? she wondered, heart clenching, throat constricting. She looked back at the boy. He was only a kid! He had so much life ahead of him, years and years! And yet, a mere scrap of metal would end it all . . .
Another lump formed in her throat and she painfully swallowed it. The boy let out another whimper and she felt him curl in on himself.
The man leveled the gun at them. She couldn’t breathe.
One shot.
One decision.
And she would be dead.
The night draped over the man like a cloak, enveloping him in darkness. But what she could see of him did not look like the features of a killer. His eyes did not glow crimson with sinister promise. His face was not twisted in a hideous sneer. And he was not disfigured or overtly evil. He was simply a man with a gun . . .
. . . And perhaps that was what frightened her most of
“It’s just a little thin on top,” her grandfather would have said.
She wished it were still fall. Winter and summer were extremes …show more content…
She heard gunfire.
It was an awful booming sound that startled her out of her thoughts and froze her in the middle of her step. It was close, too close.
Who—what—? Her thoughts ran disoriented laps and, for a terrifying second, she just stood there with a blank mind and a frozen heart.
What—what should I do? She’d never been in a situation like this—and she’d never expected to be! Who would prepare so systematically for death?
Her breathing became sparse; her heartbeat began to spiral out of control.
She frantically looked back and forth, sideways and up, for any sign of life. Any sign of the terror that had resonated in her ears.
When no such life appeared, her heartbeat only accelerated. It was quiet again—as if the night was trying to coax her into a false sense of security, luring her to declare the event a figment of her imagination.
And yet, despite the silence, she still heard the gunshot as clearly as any audio recording; it repeated over and over within her head, like a countdown.
She trembled. She was afraid to move.
But . . . she was also afraid to …show more content…
. .
The gun rapped her in the back and she flinched, feeling its chill even through her jacket. She tried to restrain her tears, but her dams burst and out sprung her searing, liquid soul. The boy stared at her, expressionless, lifeless.
He, too, had cried.
“Turn around,” a gruff voice commanded. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she slowly turned to face him.
Why . . . Why must our lives be sacrificed? she wondered, heart clenching, throat constricting. She looked back at the boy. He was only a kid! He had so much life ahead of him, years and years! And yet, a mere scrap of metal would end it all . . .
Another lump formed in her throat and she painfully swallowed it. The boy let out another whimper and she felt him curl in on himself.
The man leveled the gun at them. She couldn’t breathe.
One shot.
One decision.
And she would be dead.
The night draped over the man like a cloak, enveloping him in darkness. But what she could see of him did not look like the features of a killer. His eyes did not glow crimson with sinister promise. His face was not twisted in a hideous sneer. And he was not disfigured or overtly evil. He was simply a man with a gun . . .
. . . And perhaps that was what frightened her most of