Accidents
by Kyra Means '15
He stood up.
He got off the ground, We instructed him to stay down, wearing the mask over my face I couldn’t see that well. I fired my gun. The gunshot echoed through the building infecting both of my ears with what I had just done. I couldn’t see that well, but I could see him fall to the marble floor in his floral shirt. Blood splattering the marbled white floor. He probably has a family. Children. No one could see my facial expression, but I was scared. The gun rolled out of my hand and crashed to the floor. My friend was yelling at me, but it was as if I went deaf. "Don't do anything stupid." I shot an innocent man. My two friends were sprinting out the glass doors with duffle bags full of cash and I stood there. Why did he have to stand? I fall to my knee as the rest of the bank-goers cling to cold marble floor like gum on pavement. I wonder if they can hear my soft sobs underneath this mask. The pool of blood grows around the man in the floral print shirt. I am crying directly over him as if it would fix this. The wound takes up the majority of his chest. I can almost see his heart. I hide my face in the palm of my hand. I hear police sirens now. I say I’m sorry to the man who could have been a father, son, or husband.
I run to the glass doors.
He got off the ground, We instructed him to stay down, wearing the mask over my face I couldn’t see that well. I fired my gun. The gunshot echoed through the building infecting both of my ears with what I had just done. I couldn’t see that well, but I could see him fall to the marble floor in his floral shirt. Blood splattering the marbled white floor. He probably has a family. Children. No one could see my facial expression, but I was scared. The gun rolled out of my hand and crashed to the floor. My friend was yelling at me, but it was as if I went deaf. "Don't do anything stupid." I shot an innocent man. My two friends were sprinting out the glass doors with duffle bags full of cash and I stood there. Why did he have to stand? I fall to my knee as the rest of the bank-goers cling to cold marble floor like gum on pavement. I wonder if they can hear my soft sobs underneath this mask. The pool of blood grows around the man in the floral print shirt. I am crying directly over him as if it would fix this. The wound takes up the majority of his chest. I can almost see his heart. I hide my face in the palm of my hand. I hear police sirens now. I say I’m sorry to the man who could have been a father, son, or husband.
I run to the glass doors.
