Death By Anticipation

“I’m gonna give you till the count of three.” The man screamed, spittle flying out of his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, beard covered in spit, vomit, and heaven only knows what else. Beyond us, sand drifted in the morning light kicked up by the revving truck before us.

“What have we done?” One of us asks, as calmly as possible.

Expletives fly from his mouth as it twists with rage.

We’re going to die.” I thought, feeling my feet go numb.

“You stole my ATV! You stole it! I know it! And now you all are going to pay.” He waved the gun in our faces, black muzzle glinting before our noses.

He pointed the gun to the side of the dirt road, motioning us over, “Now line up over there! Now! Don’t ask questions just do it!”

I’m never going to see my family again.” Was all my mind could think.

We stepped over to the sagebrush covered hill.

“Honey,” said a woman’s voice from the cab of the truck, “I think you have the wrong guys, they’re just kids.”

“Shut up, woman. I know what I’m doing.” The man screamed. He stepped closer, a waft of alcohol blew from his twisting mouth.

“What is this guy on? He’s chewing up the inside of his mouth.” Even as I thought this he spit to the side, blood spattering the sand at our feet.

The man squared his shoulders, and spoke with in a dangerous whisper, “Alright.  You’re all going to tell me where you’ve been tonight, and then you’re going to show me the bottom of your feet.”

“What?’ Another of asked, bewildered and terrified.

“Show me your feet!” He screamed, stepping right up to us, all but shoving the barrel of his handgun up our noses.

We’re dead.” I thought, lifting my foot towards the man.

A look came over his face, making us pull back as one.

Then he screamed.

-M.E. InkOwl


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