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June 26, 2006 Before the sun came up, she was in her bed, awake, but thinking, while staring at the ceiling fan. She thought of many things, disconnected things. She thought about sprinkler systems, hot air balloons, coffee cups, and swivel chairs. She thought about volleyball, multi-speed fans, and fast food takeout windows. She thought about television documentaries, invitation cards, blue ink, large desks, fires, parking lots, electrical cords, sectional couches, raspberries, disposable cameras, ball bearings, chewing gum, hanging plants, coyotes, aztec designs, and deafness. She lived just off the interstate. There was only a winding path from a group of backyards that led to a special small hill. From this hill you could see all the traffic go past, and go past it did, all day, and into the night, and as they say in stories too often, those days and nights turn into weeks, and those weeks into months, and months into years… It was bright out now, and she pinned her hair up in the back of her head. It was dark hair, and it had some highlights. She wore green army fatigues, but with running shoes. She would be considered lean, but was not as muscular as she used to be, when she was a volleyball star in high school. Now it was the time of week, and the time of day, when she was doing a strange thing, her own strange and dark thing, that brought her a bit of happiness. She sat at a table and ate some cereal. She looked at a chip in her nail. She had a French manicure, and the whites of it, with her high cheekbones, tanned summer skin, and dark eyes made for a looker. She loaded the gun then, stood up, and put it in the large side pocket of her pants. She wore an exercise bra, with a T-shirt over top. She lifted the T- shirt, and scratched the itch lightly, under one of her breasts. She bit her bottom lip, as some people do, while they are in thought. Then she turned and left out the back door, and it swung closed behind her in one motion, shut. Up on the hill, she watched the traffic. She would shoot at one car, and today it was a Honda Civic, light blue. She only waited a few minutes. She held the gun in her right hand, and cupped her left hand under the handle of the gun. She shot as she breathed out slowly, and only aimed for the general direction of the car. She hit the passenger side window, and the glass collapsed in an instant. The car veered left, and then right and then hit the side guardrail as it went left again, and stopped. Then she got up, dusted herself off a bit, and walked back along the path to her house. Inside, she put the gun in its place, exchanged it for her college books, and left out the front door for classes. She had not been doing her shooting for any reason she could figure out, though she knew there must be a reason. She went there one morning, for a joke, just on a walk, and had had the gun, because she liked guns. Then she sat and watched the traffic, she got the urge to interrupt the traffic, and she shot at a car. After that, she found she could not resist, and had been continuing. One day she was caught. It was not for shooting at cars though. She killed somebody, a man, who had been tailing her car. She was driving on a residential street, and was going too slow for him, so he followed very closely. She slowed and stopped her car, without pulling to the side. He got out, and came towards her. He was yelling, and she asked him to hold on a second. Then she undid her seatbelt and got out. He was still yelling, only a few feet away from her. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out the gun. She pointed it with two hands, but the left hand underneath the handle, and supporting it, like before, all those times on the hill, and she started pulling the trigger. There was a kickback each time, and a noise far louder than in the movies, as she unloaded six shots into him. With the first one, he stumbled backwards, and then fell. Then she stood over him, and her rage intensified, and she fired the next five shots into his chest. Driving away, she came out of the crescent she was on, and pulled onto a busier street. She had heard sirens, but they seemed so far off, almost as if in a dream. The next intersection she was pulled over buy a police car. As she got out of the car, she realized there were two police cars behind the one that pulled her over. She stretched herself on the ground, as if to make a sand angel, or snow angel, but on her belly. That was it for her shooting days. In jail, deep in the night, when there was the greatest room to think, she thought about various things, things that would be considered normal. But in dreams, still later in the nights, she would sometimes dream of the mornings on the hill, when she had first started her acts of violence. She dreamt she was back there, waiting, and watching the traffic go past, and how the sun reflected on certain parts of chrome and glass. The sun, so pure, so strong, and everyone abiding by it, driving along under it, having it show the way, as tires rolled and rolled. And she, the girl with the gun, pulled the trigger. ------------ Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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