Barrel of the Gun

 

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The guns were pointed at my head.  “This is no joke, let go of the phone”.  Eight, maybe ten men crowded around me, appearing out of nowhere in the darkness to relieve me of any valuables I might have.  Three different firearms of questionable condition hovering in front of my eyes, three black holes willing to usher me into the afterlife with just a flash and a bang.

“Shika, shika, just take it” I said, letting go of the  phone and raising my hands up in surrender.  They patted me down looking for anything else.  It was 5 in the morning. I had only come out of the house to buy bread and milk, forgetting that the darkness is still dangerous whether its late evening or early morning.

The crowd of men faded away. I tried to yell “help”, but the only thing I could manage was a small squawk.

I had my life, just not my phone.

It shook me up .  I spent at least 36 hours feeling sorry for myself, getting mad, imagining heroics and just being sad.  I couldn’t leave the house.

Note: This happened on an early morning in 2011