Between A Rock and A Hard Place
"I am not thinking... I am afraid"
I am in Wal-Mart, they are all watching me intently. They are waiting for the moment until I am not watching them so that they can hurt me. Jump me. Take me away. Rape me. Hurt me. Kill me. I have a gun in my bag, but they don’t know that yet. They don’t know.
I run to the shaving for men’s section and grab a package of disposable razorblades.
I walk to a cash register and intend to buy the razorblades, but the cashier sees the scars on my arms and sees the razorblades, and the cashier tries to talk me out of buying the razorblades.
I grab the razorblades and run.
The cashier calls security. Fat and skinny and tall and short Wal-Mart employees are walking towards me, trying not to scare me, but I grab my bag and reach in it to bring out my handgun.
I am almost out the door.
People start to scream.
Mothers hold their babies and children run amuck.
I am holding out the handgun, pointing it at random people screaming that they should stay away, stay away, stay away. Leave me alone. I don’t want to hurt you.
I’m not even sure the gun is loaded, or if the safety is on or off. But I am scared and the people are scared and now they know what I am capable of.
A man rushes me. Tires to pin me down.
I pull the trigger. The kickback shocks me.
The bullet explodes out of the barrel and into the man’s shoulder.
He is on the ground. He is bleeding. He is dying.
Police arrive on the scene. Craig Ford is there. I am crying and shaking and pinned up against a wall with a crowd of people half-mooned around me.
He tries to calm me down.
"It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you. No one here wants to hurt you."
"Yes, people want to hurt me. Everyone here is trying to hurt me."
Back and forth, back and forth.
"No one wants to hurt you. Put the gun down."
"Yes, people want to hurt me. I will not put the gun down."
The man with the bleeding shoulder dies. The ambulance was not fast enough.
I crouch down against the wall. I still have my gun pointed outwards. I shake. I am scared. I killed someone.
Craig Ford inches closer to me and I let him. Other cops inch forward. I point my gun at them. Then I point my gun at Craig.
"Don’t come closer."
I am mad, I am not thinking.
He looks startled.
"Why?"
"You’re in on it. You’re working with Harrod! I can’t trust you! I can’t trust you! He’s sent you to silence me! I cannot trust you anymore!"
I am crying more so now and I shoot three shots into the air. Lights flash and bits of the ceiling fall down on people. Craig moves backwards, putting a hand on his gun.
"Gonna shoot me, big man?" my voice is rising, and I stand up. "Then let me help you!"
I am not thinking, I am not calculating. I am afraid.
I turn the gun on myself. I pull the trigger. Bits of brain slide down the wall behind me.
I run to the shaving for men’s section and grab a package of disposable razorblades.
I walk to a cash register and intend to buy the razorblades, but the cashier sees the scars on my arms and sees the razorblades, and the cashier tries to talk me out of buying the razorblades.
I grab the razorblades and run.
The cashier calls security. Fat and skinny and tall and short Wal-Mart employees are walking towards me, trying not to scare me, but I grab my bag and reach in it to bring out my handgun.
I am almost out the door.
People start to scream.
Mothers hold their babies and children run amuck.
I am holding out the handgun, pointing it at random people screaming that they should stay away, stay away, stay away. Leave me alone. I don’t want to hurt you.
I’m not even sure the gun is loaded, or if the safety is on or off. But I am scared and the people are scared and now they know what I am capable of.
A man rushes me. Tires to pin me down.
I pull the trigger. The kickback shocks me.
The bullet explodes out of the barrel and into the man’s shoulder.
He is on the ground. He is bleeding. He is dying.
Police arrive on the scene. Craig Ford is there. I am crying and shaking and pinned up against a wall with a crowd of people half-mooned around me.
He tries to calm me down.
"It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you. No one here wants to hurt you."
"Yes, people want to hurt me. Everyone here is trying to hurt me."
Back and forth, back and forth.
"No one wants to hurt you. Put the gun down."
"Yes, people want to hurt me. I will not put the gun down."
The man with the bleeding shoulder dies. The ambulance was not fast enough.
I crouch down against the wall. I still have my gun pointed outwards. I shake. I am scared. I killed someone.
Craig Ford inches closer to me and I let him. Other cops inch forward. I point my gun at them. Then I point my gun at Craig.
"Don’t come closer."
I am mad, I am not thinking.
He looks startled.
"Why?"
"You’re in on it. You’re working with Harrod! I can’t trust you! I can’t trust you! He’s sent you to silence me! I cannot trust you anymore!"
I am crying more so now and I shoot three shots into the air. Lights flash and bits of the ceiling fall down on people. Craig moves backwards, putting a hand on his gun.
"Gonna shoot me, big man?" my voice is rising, and I stand up. "Then let me help you!"
I am not thinking, I am not calculating. I am afraid.
I turn the gun on myself. I pull the trigger. Bits of brain slide down the wall behind me.