The twisted mind.

I was driving down the street when I had a random urge to take a short cut through a car lot. That's when I saw him. A handsome man with a strong jawline was sitting it a white car smoking a cigarette. He was attractive, yes, with dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. Yet there was something so terrifying about him. I made eye contact with him as I drove past and knew I was danger. He fired up his engine and started to follow me, looking in my rear view mirror I tore through the car lot. That's when my tire blew out. Maybe I ran over a nail, perhaps there was a trap set up. I have no clue. I had no choice, I had to get as much room between me and this stranger as possible. I got out of my car and started on foot. I ran so fast, I flew. I had two options. Left was an open field that would leave me vulnerable or an auto garage to the right. I opted to try and find a hiding spot in the seemingly empty building. I heard the man's car screech to a stop and his footsteps fast approaching. Panicked I tried wedging myself behind a rolling toolbox. A second man came out of an office at the top of a set of stairs, grease caked the railings he held on too. This man was in dirty mechanics clothes with the name "Andy" stitched on the pocket and a cap that covered his unkempt hair. He had startling green eyes that grew wide in an instant. That was the moment he saw the man who had been chasing me. My own eyes flickered from Andy to the man filled with rage. He was holding a gun and had fire in his eyes. Andy tried running back to the office but this man was faster. He pulled him by his shirt back down the stairs, held him and gunpoint and searched the room with his gaze wildly. I all but stopped breathing in my hiding place, praying I would not be found. I wasn't so lucky. After almost a minute of terror, a pair of nearly black eyes met mine. He grabbed me by a fistful of hair and threw me on the ground. At that moment I was positive I was going to die. With the gun fixed on me I was told to kneel on the ground and put my head on the floor. So frightened, I sat there shocked until I felt the gun pressed firmly against my temple. With that I sat on my knees, pressed my forehead to the cement and attempted to make peace with my fate. Rather than being mad that I took that shortcut or couldn't get away, I spoke aloud what I was happy about. In a soft mutter, told the man with the gun I wasn't ready to die, there was so much I wanted to accomplish. I wanted to graduate college, travel the world, take care of my parents as they grew old. I told him of the tragedy I've experienced and why I'm grateful for it. I'm proud of who I've become and if I were to die today, it would all be for naught. I begged shamelessly for mercy. If I were to die, it wouldn't be a hero's death, but a cowards. Too focused on my mortal peril, I forgot what else was happening. It was a gunshot that woke me up. I screamed and cried as I did a mental check of my body. I was alive....did the bullet even hit me? No. I looked up to see Andy fold over himself as he fell to the floor. My head was slammed against the floor a second later. Hot blood was streaming from my cheek mixing with snot and tears. As much of a mess I looked like, I was infinitely more of a wreck inside. My heart was beating a thousand beats a minute, presumably to make up for the beats I'll miss out on once I'm dead and gone. My stomach was considering parting with my body and my brain was scanning through a million outcomes. What would my parents do when they found out I had been killed? Would it be extremely painful? Would I die quickly or bleed out slowly? Is there an afterlife? Despite my hysteria I could hear the man screaming at me to shut up and not to look up. The gun was pressed to my skin once more. This time on the back of my neck. He had drawn the gun back and cocked it. It was time. I shut my eyes tight and pictured my loved ones. Once more I heard the giant bang and echo of the gun. And again I did an inventory of my body to find no bullet wounds. Startled and confused I dared to raise my head. There he was, the gunman, crumpled up on the floor with a bullet through is skull. I'll never understand what happened. This disturbed man, took his own life yet spared mine. Was his plan to scare the living hell out of me? Did he intend on killing me, but was dissuaded by my heart wrenching pleas for mercy? Was he expecting someone else to have driven past him? Was he ill in the mind? Did he have a plan or even know what he was doing at all? I'll never know. I'm not sure I want to either. I escaped with my life.

I feel I don't need to, but equally should, say that this is fiction. I actually had an extremely vivid dream of this today. It's curious how the mind creates these webs of stories. 

Be Well

Gayle