Note: Our world is often a violent place, and there is violence in this story as a police officer does what he can to protect people. Please don’t read it, if you think it would disturb you.
“Drop the knife!”, he was yelling at the top of his lungs now. “I said drop the knife!” Officer Chuck Roberts, had his 9mm pointed right at the man, center mass, right at his chest, finger on the trigger. Fifteen rounds could be pumped into the man’s chest in a matter of seconds. “C’mon cop!” “Pull the trigger!” The crazy man was taunting him now. “We need to die…..” “He he, we neeeed to die.” His yellow-white teeth, and the knife, glistened in the street lights. Was that blood on the knife?
The man had to be insane, his eyes were glowing red, as he waved the knife from side to side, pleading with Chuck to pull the trigger, and to put him down. Fortunately Chuck was twenty feet away, and was in no hurry to end the man’s life. The man had stabbed a waiter, just five minutes earlier for no apparent reason. Back up was on the way, but if the man charged him, he would be forced to end the whole thing. As Chuck watched the man he noticed blood on the man’s chest, but it was not from the waiter. He could clearly see stab wounds. The man had stabbed himself!
A cruiser was screaming down 9th street, sirens blasting, another was coming from the west, down Elm Avenue, and 2-3 more could be heard coming from the north. Chuck began to calm down and took his finger off the trigger, but maintained his aim. The man just stood there, smiling and waving the knife. When the cruiser from 9th street pulled up they slammed on the breaks, and pointed the headlights, at the man with the knife, which he then dropped, and he took off running. Chuck and Officer Carol Johnson tackled him two blocks away, and managed to get the cuffs on. Blood was everywhere, fortunately the ambulance was just around the corner.
Two hours later Chuck was still at the station doing the paperwork, when his cell phone rang. “Dad?” “Is Mom alright?” His father never called. “Son, I just heard what happened tonight, were you involved?” “Yes, but I’m alright, sort of.” With that last part he knew he gave it away. He was not alright, and his father would know that for sure.
“Son I don’t want to sound preachy, but remember how you loved Africa.” There it went, the bomb he was dreading. “I know Dad, I know.” “The Peace Corp. could still use you son.” Chuck was silent for a long time. “I’ll think about it”, was all he could say. He knew his father wanted to say more but didn’t, especially after what happened last month.
At about 3:00 am Chuck made it back to his apartment, with a splitting headache. He was glad he had taken leave for the next ten days. He needed the time to think. After taking some aspirin, he hit the hay. He woke up with the same nightmare he had every night. He heard himself yelling, “Drop, the gun!” The man turned to face him with a sawed-off shotgun. Four shots rang out from his own gun, and the man fell. He sat up drenched with sweat, yelling until he woke up.
The shooting last month was ruled as justified. Even the media applauded him, and called him a hero. The same bank robbers had shot and killed a security guard three weeks before. The fact was though, he didn’t want to be a hero, not like that anyway. He had killed a man.
As he went for his morning jog through the park, he realized that the main reason he became an officer, besides wanting to help people, was that he wanted to marry Jenny. His dream of the perfect life had never materialized. She said no thank you, and broke his heart.
Maybe he should consider….. Africa….. He could help people, but in a different way. He could help them with horticulture, which he loved. And….. he loved the people.
Blessings to everyone and PEACE!
Writing © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree
images from google