Please don't shoot my daddy

“Help me!

Please, help me.”

“He’s got my kids…And…Oh, God…He’s got a gun!

Hel…” BOOM!

Silence.

“All units. Hostage situation.

212 Shady Lane.

Weapons involved.

Shots fired.”

Three cars.

High speed parade.

Blue lights.

Sirens.

Sun, dipping behind trees.

Sharp, hairpin curves.

Shadows stretched across cracked pavement.

There, that’s the driveway.

Tractor-shaped mailbox

Atop dented and crooked metal pole.

Long path.

Two dirt ruts splitting a sea of gangly weeds and wildflowers.

Single file.

Lights off.

Sirens off.

Stop.

Engines off.

Weapons drawn.

Breezes pushing and pulling dry, brittle grasses.

Me to the right.

One to the left.

One in the middle.

Far away thunder.

Trees sway, gently.

Leaves flutter, dance, and turn belly up.

Raindrops tip-tapping on tin roof.

First one, then another and another.

Tap, tap, tap.

Glass shatters.

Crack!

A scream.

“No!”

Front porch.

Door opens.

Three pistols aim.

Boy runs out.

Twelve-years-old?

Crying.

“He’s got my sister…and my Mama!”

“And he’s got a gun.”

Shivering.

Tears.

SWAT?

Call for backup?

Dogs?

BOOM!

Screaming.

Lot’s of screaming.

Wood splintering.

Thuds and thumps.

Struggle. Fighting.

BOOM!

No time.

Prepare to enter.

Child in car.

“Please don’t shoot my Daddy…”

There, coming outside.

Man, wild-eyed.

No shirt.

Faded jeans.

Barefoot.

Shotgun.

Three voices.

In unison.

“Put down the gun! Put it down, now!”

Shotgun waving.

Finger in trigger guard.

Three pistols pointed.

Squeezing.

Shotgun to chin.

Take chance.

Sneaking to side.

“I’ll kill myself!”

Closer.

One pleading. Begging. “Put down the gun.”

“I’m not going to jail!”

Woman crying. “Please, no…”

Sobbing.

Children, crying.

“No, Daddy. Please, no.”

Closer.

“Nothing to live for.”

Still closer.

“I want to die.”

Shotgun swaying.

Hands tremble.

“Go away.”

In doorway.

Woman and young girl.

“I’m taking them with me.”

Now!

Tackle.

Fighting.

Struggle for weapon.

Strong.

Really strong.

Alcohol.

Eyes, glassy.

Pupils, tiny.

Cursing.

Spitting.

Biting.

So strong.

Shirt torn.

Elbow bleeding.

Hand bitten, bleeding.

Handcuffs click.

Growl—raspy, vicious, feral.

Thrashing.

Screaming.

Jail.

Methamphetamine.

Suicide.

Mother, drug addiction.

Child Protective Services.

Children—foster homes.

Family…destroyed.

Meth…

  1. Nancy Sullivan
    Nancy Sullivan says:

    Wow, this is really quite a story, Lee. Thanks for your efforts and for sharing it. The writing style is quite compelling!

  2. Shannon J
    Shannon J says:

    As the wife of an LEO, this is all too familiar. And as much as I hate the subject matter, I love the description in prose form. It’s so quick moving, it makes a reader feel as they could be witnessing from across the street.
    It could have turned out worse. Thank you for your service.