My First Shot-Personal Narrative
The subtle ringtone slowly pulled me out of my dream and dragged me into reality. “Hello” I answered softly, not wanting to wake my wife up. “Someone broke into Shawn’s house but Shawn woke up and was on his way down stairs when he saw the intruder coming up the stairs so Shawn tackled him and they fought until the intruder pulled a gun and shot him… He didn’t make it man” Cavan sobbingly described. “What about Linda and the kids, are they okay” I asked hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. “Linda and the kids are alive and uninjured, Linda called the police immediately after she heard the first shot” “I’m so glad to hear Linda and the kids are okay, but what do mean the first shot” I said breathing a sigh of relief but looking for clarification. “Whoever broke in shot Shawn 6 times, I wish I could tell you more but as soon as I found out I went to care for Linda and that’s all she knew.” “I can’t fucking believe this man, I’ll catch the next flight
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The truck ride home was quiet, besides the occasional “Who sings this?” when a ghost of a classic country song would works its way on the radio. The red headed stranger accompanied by long white lines lit up by the glow of headlights was a somber reminder of Shawn. The familiar roads leading up to my childhood home brought back memories of me and Shawn flying down them in a pickup truck blasting Eric Church, talking about how hot Jenny looked in that tight little black dress throwing the empty Bush Light cans out the window as we went. The bark of Penny, my dads golden retriever, evaporated my memory cloud. As we pulled into my old home, I grabbed my luggage and called my wife to let her know I had made it and I was safe. The flight had made me tired and somehow the comfort of being back in the first place I called home helped me drift off into
The truck ride home was quiet, besides the occasional “Who sings this?” when a ghost of a classic country song would works its way on the radio. The red headed stranger accompanied by long white lines lit up by the glow of headlights was a somber reminder of Shawn. The familiar roads leading up to my childhood home brought back memories of me and Shawn flying down them in a pickup truck blasting Eric Church, talking about how hot Jenny looked in that tight little black dress throwing the empty Bush Light cans out the window as we went. The bark of Penny, my dads golden retriever, evaporated my memory cloud. As we pulled into my old home, I grabbed my luggage and called my wife to let her know I had made it and I was safe. The flight had made me tired and somehow the comfort of being back in the first place I called home helped me drift off into