Push you idiot!
He spoke to himself.
Actually he yelled at himself.
He fought the urge to look.
He knew he needed to keep running
The darkness was his ally and an obstacle.
Using cars and trees as objects to hide behind,
He zigged and zagged now turning down streets remaining northward
As best he could, because northward would lead him to home
Home where his loaded Ruger waited to vanquish the threat and menace
His breathes were heavy and his aching legs – wobbly soon he would cease
He could now see his street four houses away, he recognized the blue car
Parked at the corner, passing it he could now see his home five houses away
The last bit of adrenalin kicked in as it realized the closeness of hope and rest
Churning up the steps fumbling with his keys pleading with the lock and key to cooperate – open
Click! The knob gave way and his soaked panting exhausted body pushed the door wide open, stumbling forward
Slamming the door shut and turning off the porch light pulling the blinds closed dripping sweat on his table
Straddling the coffee table heading to closet and the hidden Ruger cleverly residing in his brown dress coat inside pocket.
The cool friendly feeling in his hand, pulling it out popping out the clip and placing it back into its place
Sliding it allowing one into the chamber all while turning toward the front door and plopping to the floor –Ruger aimed
The pounding in his chest and screaming of his legs filled his mind, sweat trickling into his eyes – burning, his thoughts swirling.
He became aware of sharp pain in his abdomen; looking down, he saw blood on his shirt and pants, pain met with wooziness.
He’d been shot? He saw the dark room, the chains, arguing, the blast, the light, the gun shots, the empty clip, running.
Lifting his shirt he saw the wound and all the blood – the hard running had pumped the blood out of him.
Heavy wooziness settled on him, his escape killed him. Fleeing with only the thought of not getting caught – killed him.
He’d been shot! He slipped off his shirt, rolled it up and then pressed it against the wound. Pain.
His eyes kept going from the front door to his bloody abdomen. He struggled against his heavy eyelids.
What to do? He couldn’t go to the hospital. He could just remain slumped here. Eyes closing.
If they do I am dead he thought to himself. He tried to get up. Push!
His legs acting like pistons pumped his upper body up against the wall. He moved.
Up! Up you idiot! His legs while pushing were wobbly and head was spinning.
He slid his hand around his back, he didn’t feel a wound present.
The bullet is still inside. He struggled to the kitchen, looking around
Grabbed a clean dish towel, wadded it up and jammed it
Into the wound, searing pain shot through his weakened body
He struggled over to the stool feeling his life
Fade away from him. Looking around. Please help!
He fell to the floor, Numbness, darkness
Eyes closed, throbbing over, pressure lifting
Mom, dad, granny, granddad, laughing
Fading, dreams, goals, aspirations
Darkness, emptiness, waste