I was a member of some law enforcement organization, living in a house with my fellow members. A man, who helped us at times, pulled up to the house's driveway, yelling.
A number of us got out, and discovered that what had happened was that some of his clothes, which he called his linens, from the rack that he kept on the outside of his car had disappeared. I was at the car along with him and some other people, looking around. I saw some batteries, guns, and bullets on the ground, so after consulting with him I put them in the trunk and closed it. I waited at the car while the others went inside.
A man ran up to the front of the car, carrying a large gun, and hurried to load it with ammunition. I opened the trunk again and hurried to pull out a short pistol I had replaced there, aiming at him and firing. It made a small sound, but no shot came out. The man nevertheless fell over, eyes open, and looked rather dead. I started walking over to examine him when he got back up, saying that he was surprised I thought an unloaded gun could kill him.
I grabbed some weapons and slammed the trunk shut, then ran into the back door of the house, unable to bring myself to yell as terror rushed over me. I closed the door and dropped the guns on the counter of the kitchen I had entered, starting to sputter out what had happened.
Posted by Trevor Savage at January 2, 2004 1:55 PM