Of the Many, Of the Few

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a little something I was thinking about the other day, hope you like it.

Submitted: September 06, 2014

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Submitted: September 06, 2014

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Well, I got shot…

Funny way to start out a story, but that’s where it starts. For the most part. My story had been told time and time again, and I’ve been called everything for a God to a Hero and even some not so nice things.

People don’t understand that I didn’t ask to be thrown into a situation like that, it just happened. It was stupid. I don’t know why that man walked into our house, or why he happened to be carrying a 380 when he “thought the house was empty.” It just happened.

But let me tell you this story where it starts, four weeks ago at my house.

 

I was just watching a little TV while my younger brother, Callen, slept. I was supposed to watch him because my parents were going to be working late.

I never minded watching him, he was a really sweet kid when he wanted to be. He’d come home that day worn out, so I told his to get some sleep and dinner will be ready when he wakes up. I never did get the chance to make it. I was going to make him mac-and-cheese with hot dogs, his favorite.

About an hour after he’s fallen asleep is when I heard this odd sound at the door. At first, I hoped it was my mom or dad coming home, and just having a hard time with the key in the door, but they would have just knocked. So I got up to investigate.

A tall figure obstructed most of the light coming in from a window set into the wall next to the door. I walked slowly, creeping on about as fast as cold molasses. My heart was pumping, beating faster and faster as I neared the door.

The tick of the door unlocking made me stop dead. The door opened wide, and there stood a man, no taller than I was. He was dresses in a black hoddie with blue jeans, his hair jet black and messed up like he’d gone to sleep with gel in his hair and didn’t take a shower in the morning.

He didn’t expect to see me there, I could tell. His look was questioning, but then determined. I kept thinking I should have grabed a knife or something, but then he pulled out a black metal object.

My first reaction was to scream, but if I did that, I’d wake Callen, and he’s come down stair to see what’s wrong and I’d be too worried to do anything about the barrel sticking in my face. So I stayed silent. Thinking.

“Hands up!” He yelled. My hands slowly went up to my head.

I had to keep him from going up stairs, he couldn’t touch Callen, of even see his bed room door. I’d already lost one brother, I wasn’t about to lose another.

The man was about to say something else, but I didn’t let him. I grabed the barrel of the gun, pushing it into the air. My left hand shot up to meet my right, and I shoved my nails into his skin. A round went off, hitting the ceiling and showering us in white dust. I’d grabed his wrist, and his elbow, shoving the gun down towards the floor.

It was all I could do to keep from screaming as he push the gun up and pulled the trigger. Some would call it a lucky shot; it sure bled a whole bunch, but didn’t hit anything.

My vision bleared and I’d somehow managed to get the gun from the man. He could have easily over powered me at any point, but I was a sly little sucker, and I twisted the gun around so I was holding the barrel again, Than, with all the force I had in me and all the adrenalin pulsing through my veins, I hit him in the head with the gun handle.

I must have hit him just right because the man fell to the ground, out cold.

I fell to the floor, holing the bleeding gap in my side, and yelled as loud as I could, “Callen!” Again and again, “Callen, Callen, Callen!” Even after his feet stumbled down the stairs and he’d pulled my phone out of my pocket and called 9-1-1. Even after the EMT’s had gotten here, and rolled me off, my brother sitting right next to mw he whole way. I’d passed out a few times, and my yelling had become a whisper long before the EMT’s had gotten there.

And so the story goes.

What people always ask me is, “How’s you think through all that?”

My response it always the same, “Common since.”

I’ve been on the news for weeks, even got offered a spot on Oprah. I took it to tell my story, Tell the world I wasn’t a hero, I just did my Older brother did for me. I said that word for word, than I got asked the question, “What do you mean?”

“My older brother,” I said, “He fought for what he knew was right, he fought for everyone that’s sitting here right now. But you want to know the difference?”

She gave me an odd look and said, “Indeed, I would.”

“I protected one boy, my brother and I’m here sitting as a guest on Oprah, but my brother served his country, every single person who lives and breathes and simply wants freedom. And the most he gets is a white stone surrounded my millions of others.”

The studio was silent. No one knew what to say.

“I just wanted my brothers to be safe, but my brother died to keep all of us that way.”


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