The Gunman

Chapter Twenty-Four: Louis

I was the only one, who hid in the lunch room. So I was alone, under a filthy table. There were many chewed up sticks of gum there, and I tried my best to keep it out of my hair. But my afro made it nearly impossible.

I had gone in the lunch room that morning to clean, my punishment for skipping a class earlier that week. There was nobody there when I entered, so I wasn't really doing anything when the gunshots fired.

There was nowhere to hide, but under tables. So I dove under the nearest one, and hoped it was all a bad dream. Then, the shots came from the second floor. He could come in the room at any second, killing me within a seconds notice.

My dark skin shimmered with bright sweat, and my eyes opened wide. I was as far away from the giant double doors as possible, but not far enough. It wasn't that big of a lunch room, which was not to my advantage.

The doors flew open, no warning, and a man in black walked in. I didn't move, refused to move. If he didn't see me, then he wouldn't shoot me. That was my logic, not to be seen, not to be shot. It made me remember back before my father was in jail:

My momma and I would always have fun, laugh, and play fun games when I was younger. We were really close, and I hated being separated from her. But my dad seemed to hate us both, always coming home to yell. He never once said I love you, or asked how my day had been.

That was the worst he had done though, up until he threw the first punch. He tried hitting my mom, but I screamed at him to stop. He did, mid swing, and turned to face me, "Is that any way to talk to your father young man?" I had shaken my head, terrified of him as he approached me. I knew his fist was coming, even before he drew it back.

It connected with my cheek bone, and I screamed at the same time as my momma did. She felt my pain, like I felt hers. That was one of many times my father hit me, and he hit my mother soon after. Nothing I did would stop him.

Until one day, when I realized if he didn't see me, he wouldn't hit me. So I began hiding with my momma, and when he came home he never noticed we were missing. He just kept on living a normal life, forgetting about us.

Then, a day came when my mother and I forgot to hide. My father walked through the door to see us playing a game of charades. He had gone for the baseball bat, and ran after us. The baseball bat swung at us, and hit my mother. She fell to the ground and I screamed, but kept running.

I had called the police, when I got into a locked room and told them everything. They showed up what felt like an eternity later, and arrested my father. Though my mother never got back up from the dirty wooden floor of the house.

My mother's sister took me in, acted like I was her own child. But that was many years ago, back when I was seven. I was fifteen then, and I wasn't prepared for the need to hide once again.

The black masked man walked in a complete circle around each table, slowly working to mine. My legs hurt from being pulled to my chest for so long, and my lungs hurt from holding my breath.

A shiver went through my body as the man walked over to the table I was hidden under. He saw me. The gun rose to my face, but before he could shoot, I yelled, "Why?!"

The man hesitated, but not for long. He took the gun, shoved it under my chin, and fired. A gurgling noise escaped my lips and blood rushed through my throat. I fell to the ground, a sharp pain just under my neck. Then, the light slowly faded, and I thought I saw my mother.