“Mommy, can we go home now? I’m cold.” I asked my mom as we walk through the frozen foods aisle.
“No, baby. You just want to go home and play games.” Mom replied making me blush with embarrassment.
A wild man screamed, “DIE DIE DIE!” as an automatic rifle goes off. Everyone screamed and panicked. Mom grabbed my arm and ran to the women’s bathroom. Tears rolled down my face as mom pushed me into a bathroom stall.
“Shshsh, shshsh. Everything will be okay. Just get on top of the toilet and stay quiet.” I nodded then climbed on top of the toilet. Mom pushed up my downcast face looking straight into my eyes, “Good boy, now whatever you hear. Stay quiet. No matter what. You understand?” I nodded again. “Tell me, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
“Yes ma’am,” I choked.
“Good, lock the stall once I leave.” She walked out. I quickly did what I was told and locked the stall.
A minute passed and nothing happened. I stand to see over the stalls. Mom was holding the doors. There was a sound of a foot kicking wood. Then, there was another kick. Finally, there was a gunshot and mom’s scream. Mom got shot bleeding on the ground. The door kicked open as I go back to the fetal position. I held my palm over my mouth to keep from screaming. Then, there was another gunshot. The screaming stopped.
“Stupid bitch.” A raspy man spoked. He sounded like he smoked ten cartons of cigarettes. “Is there anyone else in here!?” He shouted with a menacing tone that made the tears fall down faster. He kicked open a stall door. Nothing was in it, so he kicked the next one and the next and the next and so on. All the way to the stall right beside me. When he got to my stall. I felt a warm liquid in my pants. All I could do is sit there and wait for death.
I heard footsteps run into the bathroom. “Police! Put your weapon down and freeze.” It was my dad.
“You fuc-“ Two gunshots interrupted the psycho. A body dropped. I wailed as there was a knock on my door.
“Are you alright?” My dad’s voice said.
“Yes, daddy.” I choked as I open the door slowly revealing my face.
“Oh no, oh no… oh no oh no.” Daddy cried as he grabbed me in a hug. He turned his head to mommy and sobbed with me. He clenched his teeth and screamed, “YOU SON OF A BITCH.” He grabbed his gun and fill the already dead maniac with lead. He dropped his gun and body and wailed. I did the same. We laid there until other people arrived.
“We had the funeral a week later on February the 25th. It’s almost been 2 years since she died.” I choked as tears rolled down my cheeks.
“Why didn’t you go to a therapist right after?” My therapist asked me.
“Because I could handle it on my own. I did actually handle it on my own. It still hurts sure, but it will always hurt.”
“That’s all the time we have today. I’ll see you next week, Chloe. Have a safe trip.”
“Thanks, have a good day, Janet.”
Thanks for reading. A friend and I decided to make a collaborative writing project. I'm doing one perspective and he's doing another. It'll probably not be put up on this site. If it is, it'll probably be on my account. Also, if you have any pointers on to making this more emotional. I would appreciate it.
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