One Night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 02, 2018

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Submitted: March 02, 2018



  One Night
I am just sixteen and I live in the most dangerous city in Mexico. 
It was half past six. The sky was already closing up, preparing its farewell address. The neighborhood was gripped in a graveyard silence and people began to lock their doors. It wasn’t as if locking the doors will save them, sorry, I meant save us, from the terror of the men of the night but what could a bloody civilian do? It was time, time for the usual. The stealing of the little we had, raping of our damsels and killing of those who took up resistance rather than surrender. We had been living with such great fear for eight years, burying our heads under pillows and tables night after night.
This was the moment people started to pray prayers like, ‘Lord, not my house. My neighbors have only sons while I have four beautiful daughters’ and some others, ‘Lord, I have just received my pension, I’m sure my neighbor has nothing to lose, he has no money and no valuables, all he has is a son about to die of constant fellowship with penury on a dining table of empty plates’. No one cared for the other. It was a war of everyman against everyman. I had also prayed on that fateful night that God should turn the foot of these men away from my home, away from my family but God certainly didn’t answer that prayer of mine.
I heard the knock on the door. It was just a single knock and we knew well that turning deaf ears to that single knock will mean risking the pierce of a hot, wandering, stray bullet either from an M1014, an MP5-SD or a mini UZI. Ignorance was definitely no excuse. My dad moved towards the door immediately after the cursed knock and hurriedly engaged the door knob to welcome our unwanted guests.
They were four in number, heavily armed and intoxicated as usual. It wasn’t much of a surprise and there was nothing astonishing about their visit. They took their seats while we all knelt with our heads buried in folded alms. My dad knew his duty. He went in to get the little we had left. We thought we could live on that little for a while then die but as it seemed, we were going to die sooner than we thought.
Two of them escorted my dad in while two sat loosely, like kings, with their heavy arms placed carefully on the stool. Not long after, a shot is heard from inside, I recognized that sound, it was the sound of the M1014, a pump action rifle. I knew what that meant. I knew dad was gone. He had either resisted or played smart at some point.
My mum started to shudder and sob. Shortly after, I heard one of the two say in Spanish ‘Ella es muy ruidosa’ (she is too noisy). I needed no classes on presupposition and entailment to know what they do to people they considered noisy. I was kneeling close to a stool which had the gun of one laying loosely on it. The guy who felt my mum was a lousy one, picked up his gun. I knew them too well they don’t drop their guns, whenever they picked it up, not until it had taken a life away. I began to sweat profusely, my sweat glands were restlessly hyperactive. I could risk attempting to pick up the gun which was in alms-reach or I could watch and give my tears another chance to play loosely on my smoothly textured face. It was quite simple, I had to choose between being a murderer or an orphan, anyway, my choice depended on my success not just in getting it, but in getting it on time. Reflexively, I swung my right hand swiftly, got hold of the gun. Thank my stars, it was a mini Uzi, I didn’t need much aiming or cocking. I engaged the trigger and that was it, an array of bullet sunk into his skull. Seeing one dead gave me a little courage. I thought to myself  ‘you are already a murderer now, there is no use crying over spilt milk’ and for the second guy, it was two days before Christmas, so I had gave him a gift in advance and it was a hearty one. 
It remained two to deal with. They had taken their time ransacking the rooms, looking for goodies, they’ve heard the series of shots and had thought that we had given them some sort of problem and their comrades have had us cleaned out 
Soon after, I heard them approaching, I ran to a nearby wall and hid stealthily behind it while my mum remained on her kneels with her head buried in her alms. I knew well that this wasn’t like the movies, I wasn’t Angelina Jolie or Jason Statham, I was Kim, a student at Staton College. It was a game that only the fastest finger and first spotter could win and obviously, I knew they were both professionals and had a better chance at it but still, I felt it’s better to die while fighting than while sulking. My fingers had grown sweaty and my eyes had started to blur out. I started to plan my strategy. I thought to myself ‘should I shoot immediately they come in-view so that I won’t risk my mum’s death or Should I wait for them to see their men laying lifelessly on the ground with my mum bent over in their pool of blood- It might shock them and give me more time to put both of them down or it might just get them really angry that they had takeout my mum- It could go either ways, certainly, I couldn’t take such a risk. I went prone, they were about a 100 centimeters to the sitting room, my heart raced but something kept keeping me strong, it was that I was already a murderer and something kept keeping me scared and hopeful at the same time, it was that I wasn’t yet an orphan, at least not totally. 
Both men stepped on the line dividing the passage from the sitting room. That was the Rubicon. I sprayed thoughtlessly. Yes I did. I waited a few seconds, then I heard gasps for air, one was dead, It was one left and must have been critically hit but still in a tug with death. He removed his auxiliary weapon, a USP .45 and shot my mum who was clearly in his sight. I was furious, I could barely see him but I could perceive where the bullet was fired from. I emptied the remaining rounds I had left in his direction. Nevertheless, it was too late, mum was gone. 
Now I am seventeen, I live in the most dangerous city in Mexico, I am an Orphan and I am a murderer.

© Copyright 2018 astorm2000. All rights reserved.

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