As the sudden burst of gunfire erupted behind me, I heard the bullet sing. I ducked and drew out a gun from my ankle holster and turned to shoot. The second bullet was better aimed, but I dodged behind a dumpster. I raised my head slowly above the dumpster and a hail of bullets followed. I sat down behind the dumpster and waited for my death.
I had felt followed for several months now. I was always looking over my shoulder. I could just feel the bullet sinking into me while my back was turned. I never once actually saw anyone follow me. I guess my paranoia was right.
I tried to check my pursuer’s position, hailing another volley of bullets, but in the darkness, I could not tell the distance. I sat back down to confront the many thoughts clambering for attention in my brain.
I am not afraid of death, but of what I would leave behind. I am a single mom with a young daughter. She hasn’t even learned to read yet. I want to see her grow up.
I stared off into the darkening distance, just barely registering the flash of the bullet leaving the gun.