Powered by Blogger.

I have a million stories that bubble and collide in my brain. To get these out and on to paper is a compulsive need. An alcoholic craves the drink. A junky craves heroin. I crave the written word. ~Angi King~

Featured post

Blinded by the Light

Imagine that you are a man, exhausted from an intense day at work. Your belly is full. You're sleepy. You tuck your little youngster i...

Popular Posts

Friday, December 4, 2009

The kid spun around and fired a shot that hit Charlie square in the chest. The sound the gun made in the small gas station made Emmett's ears ring. He watched his dad fall backwards. His body perfectly straight like invisible arms lowered him to the floor. Charlie gave a raspy grunt as his body came to rest.

Emmett recalled his training instinctively. He squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. The shots rang out, hitting the kid in the chest.

The punk staggered backwards from the force of the bullets falling into a chip display causing small snack sized bags of Fritos to scatter about the floor. The gun fell from his hand and skittered across the floor coming to rest next to the Pepsi cooler with a heavy thump.

Emmett stood with his gun trained on the punk breathing heavily. Everything happened so fast. When he heard the shot he reacted just as he should. When deadly force is used one must respond in kind. He slowly walked over to the punk now slumped against the chip display and checked for a pulse. The three shot were well aimed. Three wounds about an inch apart stained the front of his shirt.