Creative Writing- Shot Victim

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My heart stops beating. I stop blinking. They pull out a gun and although I don’t know whether it’s loaded, I raise my hands in defeat. Nevertheless, they shove it further into my face, and I wonder if they will kill me.

My life runs past my eyes at lightning speed. My parents. School. Love. Marriage. Children. I linger on the thought of my two, precious daughters. Daughters that have so much to live for. Daughters that will grow up without the support of a father. And my wife, who I will always love no matter-

Reality slaps me overwhelmingly hard in the face.
I see one of the member’s lips moving, but no words come out. My earphones are still plugged in, but I know they want money. Why don’t they just take it?

The gun holder’s fingers slip, and in slow motion, a bullet spews out. My brother shouts as the bang echoes through the room.
Then a scrabble to grab the cash register.

I feel the bullet pierce through my skin. My body rebels against the pain and shock. I look down to my shirt and see the red spreading. Spreading like a wildfire, and then my body lets go of the numbness like a dam bursting. It burns and soon enough the pain unfurls throughout my limbs. I look at the person holding the gun. He is terrified. I look again, hard, but I no longer see him. I hear my brother’s cries, and glass shattering. They were beating him.

My heart beats like a drum, pumping out blood to a synchronised beat. Like a bruised animal, I get up and stumble towards nowhere.

My head spins, but the beating continues. I feel deflated, as if the last drops of blood are seeping out of my system. The beating continues in my ears, now more urgent. I vaguely make out a wall and slump against it. The cold floor is welcoming. I embrace it. People jolt me from my peacefulness. I hear voices. I want to tell them I will be fine, just fine.
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