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Last August
by Tyler Pipher He shot me in the chest on the last day of summer. It was the end of August where the weather scorched skin, down in south Florida. My exposed torso, naked to the sun’s heat, leaked sweat and blood into the passenger seat of her new car. “Stay with me,” she said with a lip full of tears. “There’s an ambulance on the way.” Her hand pressed against the gaping hole above my heart while her other hand gripped the back of my neck. My head dangled and my blood spewed. It was the last time I ever felt her gentle touch. Shoes kicking sand into the air closed in on us, and her ex-boyfriend appeared over her shoulder. He tried to push her away as he held the gun that shot me above his head. She fought back. “Stop,” she yelled, leaning into his shoulders, driving him back. “You killed him now so just go.” I closed my eyes and felt a lightness envelope my body. I didn’t want to die just yet. The car door slammed shut, snapping my eyes open. A gunshot rang out. I looked out of the window and saw a blinding light surround a shadowy figure holding a gun. Pulling on the handle, I leaned back and kicked the door open. Warm light fell onto my body as her ex-boyfriend flew backwards. Behind him was her, motionless. I threw my body out of the car, falling onto the beach and filling my hands with sand. As I crawled toward her, a foot knocked me down. “Look at me,” the ex-boyfriend said, pulling the hammer back on his gun. Gripping the bloody sand underneath me, I flung it into the air. Another gunshot sounded as the sand splashed the ex-boyfriend’s eyes and mouth. He stumbled back, spitting, clutching his eyes with a vicious cough. The gun’s hammer was still cocked with the muzzle fixated on the ground. My arms were numb, my legs quivered, but I stood on my feet and charged him. We crashed into the sand with my hand clutching his wrist. No longer attached to his hand, the gun rested a few feet away from us. We rolled over each other, his hands squeezing the breath out of my throat while I kicked and thrashed. His strength dominated mine and he was soon on top, holding me down by my neck. I shoved another handful of dirt into his face, breaking his force enough to break free. I almost forgot I’d been shot. The amount of blood loss made my joints lock and I fell onto my hands and knees just as I rose to my feet. With one last attempt, I lunged toward the gun and fell just short of reaching distance. My body began to slide away. The ex-boyfriend pulled me towards him but a kick to the bridge of his nose let me loose. The gun was in my hand now and I took my time aiming before shooting the ex-boyfriend. The bullet punctured his chest, exactly where he had shot me. He stayed on his feet, walking toward me with a hand on his hard. I shot again, and again, until he was face down on the beach. “Viola.” The voice, my voice, was unrecognizable but it turned my attention toward her. She was facing me, motionless, her hazy eyes locked onto mine. “Viola,” I said again. She blinked and smiled once I reached her. Her hand fell around my neck while the rest of her body remained motionless. I didn’t have the strength to bring her into my arms. I could only hover over her with my hand on her wet stomach. Sirens wailed in the distance. People circled us, chattering. I looked around and saw nothing but a bright blur. Then, a black dot appeared in the center of my vision. As the ambulance drew closer, the dot grew larger until that bright blur surrounded a dark tunnel. In that tunnel was a human figure. Viola. She watched me from inside the tunnel before turning and walking away. “I feel a pulse,” A voice said. “She’s still alive.” |
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