Real Encounters

*Just a hunch*

I was in seventh grade, a slightly chubby yet equally adorable teenager with an insane amount of shyness. But thankfully to that shyness, I picked up on things most people ignored and was very observant. I've always been a magnet for danger. Always.

My parents, brother and I were walking to a grocery store located at a plaza about 15 minutes away from our high rise apartment building. The area we lived in was shady, we had gangs and the frequent stream of addicts flowing in and out of our neighbor's apartment. Needless to say, whenever I was walking alone down the dimly lit hallway, I'd squeeze up against the opposite wall facing the apartment door and carefully tread along the carpet. Odd, I know. I'd developed that habit after a man I'd never seen before had flung himself out of the door and chased me down the stairs. But that's a story for another time.

So back to the original story, we were walking under a bridge, my brother and I goofing around, when suddenly all the hairs on the back of my neck stood. My face fell and I grew stiff but my brother hadn't noticed because he was giggling to himself about a dumb joke he'd heard. I glanced up as two men in their mid-twenties dressed in black attire, pants hanging below the hips, hoods casting a shadow on the upper half of their faces, and a blood red mask covering the bottom half of their faces, walked towards us. My fingers tingled and my heart beat sped up.

My mind was racing with thoughts. Are they going to kill us? Did we just enter gang territory? Do I tell my parents? Oh my goodness. We were going to die.

I hadn't noticed that my parents and brother were further up ahead of me because I was too busy wondering if they were going to kill us. I thought that if I kept my head down, they wouldn't notice me and would go about their day. So I hung my head low, holding my breath as I felt a slight breeze cool my face and caught the smell of weed waft towards my nose. Even though I knew they had passed me, my fingers still tingled, face flushed an uncomfortable red, and heart strained against my chest. It was only when I noticed a pair of nike sneakers that I stopped in my tracks. I slowly trailed my eyes up a pair black denim jeans, an oversized hoodie, a red face mask, and to haunting brown eyes. Never in my life have I seen such a menacing glare.

A flash of fear must of passed over my face because he suddenly cocked his head to the side ever so slowly, taunting me, mocking me.

I could almost read his thoughts. 'Where you going to run little girl?'

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a step to the side, my small frame trembling. I was scared out of wits. But he followed my steps, inching closer, until he lowered his gaze to mine and stared into my eyes unblinking. I shifted uncomfortably, as he crept closer to my ear.

'Boo" he whispered. I don't know what propelled me forward, but the next thing I know is I'm racing down the street towards my parents. I make the mistake of glancing back and him standing there looking at me.

I tell my father there is something very wrong with the men who we had walked by, but he had just brushed me off for my 'overactive imagination'. My brother suddenly decides he doesn't want to go shopping, and instead go home to get his tennis racket and join his friends at the park. My mother agrees to take him and I itch to tell them it's better if they didn't. But I decide against it so my father doesn't reprimand me for being overdramatic. I stare uncomfortably at the retreating steps of my mother and brother.

My father pulls me out of my reverie, patting my head as we continue along our route. But the unsettling feeling is growing and I'm fidgeting with my hands. The tingling in my fingers grow as we hear a sudden thunder of shots. I snap my head up towards my high rise building - we were still close by, just in the neighborhood opposite my building- and a cloud of black smoke hovers in the air. My father and I freeze mid-step, in a trance of utter fear. That is until his phone blares into the deafening silence.

I can hear my mother's voice on the other side, panicky and out of breath. My father quickly grabs my hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around my small hands, and drags me towards our building. When we got there, people had crowded the lobby, officers surveying tenants, and the paramedics had rushed a bloody body into the ambulance.

My brother had been standing in the middle of this chaos, wrapped in my mother's arms, looking deathly pale.

Apparently there was an altercation which ended with a neighbor of mine shot in the neck and my brother caught in the middle of gunfire.

It had been the same men we'd passed on our way to the store. Neither have been caught yet.