I’m tired. The kitchen is a mess. My bedroom is a mess. I still haven’t put the laundry away, or taken out the trash and then there’s that guy I shot seven times in the chest, lying dead in the living room.
I’ve sat here for 5 minutes now googling, which is easier on hardwood floors when removing blood, in between bouts of staring off into the splatter on the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
I didn’t have to shoot him but once. The first shot got him in the face just fine. Something caught me up in the excitement, is all. I’d never shot a gun before.
The answer is hydrogen peroxide, by the way.
Today was supposed to be my day off.
The day I can actually get things done around the house. The kids never help.
O' gods. The kids. What if there are more coming? There are definitely more coming. We need to get out of here. Fast. I just hate to leave a mess.
The kids don’t get out of school for another 2 hours.
I scramble. I don’t know what I’m doing. Almost an hour ago, I was drinking my coffee. Mindlessly scrolling on my phone, taking a break after finishing up the bathroom, then suddenly a chirp.
I’ve always had an affinity with the songbird. Ever since I was a little girl. I love music, and I’ve always found them to be so charming. The wren, in particular, is my favorite. I keep them. Everywhere. My children—shieldwren... shielded by the song bird— are protected.
On every doorway, every window sill of this house, one sits perched. And depending on the note I hear chirped into my ear, or by the flutter of wing, do I know if it is a friend or intruder that passes through.
It’s not the best, but it's good for what I need. I get to save a near fortune on monthly security system fees.
I almost didn’t recognize the shrill alarm that sounded in my ear when this man entered my home.
I have had nothing like this happen since, well... my crazy ex in college.
I don’t own a gun. Nobody plans for these things, not really. I just figured I’d be able to grab a knife and maybe run?
By the time I realized what was happening, I was so frozen in fear I didn’t know what to do, and then I heard a click.
I looked across the kitchen in the mirror above the sink, and I could see him behind me, with his arm outstretched, a gun aimed at my head.
I knew I was about to die. I just knew it.
And then I saw them. My children. In a framed picture on the wall in the living behind the man that was about to end my life.
In that split second, I got angry. I got so angry. Don’t take me away from my children.
And I called them. I called all my little birds. Every single one of them. The house was a chorus of fluttering wings and harmony. It was beautiful.
The gun went off. The bullet hit the mirror. The man starts flailing.
I turn around to see a man in a nice black suit. His slicked back hair coming undone, swatting at the air as if fending himself off from a whirlwind of feather, beak and talon.
I can see him bleed, small beads of red prick over his face, his prominent forehead. He drops the gun.
Without realizing it, I’d already picked up the gun, pointed it and pulled the trigger.
He wasn’t 5 feet away. I hit him almost right between the eyes. He falls to the ground. I fire 7 more times into his chest.
The gun empties. I drop it.
Here we are.
What am I going to do?
I need to pick up the kids. I need to get us out of here. I need to run. Find a new home.
Go to my parents? But won’t they be put in danger too? Are they already in danger?
I try to listen for a call, a chirp, a sound, a siren... nothing. There is a brief calm.... a coo almost. And then more, and then more, a song of calmness. They must be alright... but for how much longer?
You know what? Fuck it.
I can’t live in fear like this, always anxious, always worried.
I don’t have an escape plan. I don’t do bug out bags. I’m not my crazy ex from college. I don’t have anywhere to run.
This is my home. This is my town. My family. If these guys want to play, I’ll play. I’m not running.
I’m going to go pick up the kids from school. I can finish cleaning later.
To be continued...