The room smelled of my grandma’s perfume. It was calm and innocent. A slight breeze was peeping in through the window ruffling through the purple flowered curtains. The candle by the bed let off a smooth, majestic smell. The bed was precisely made. The blankets lay flat and slightly folded over at the top, so that the neatly placed pillows were visible.
Just when I plopped my small, 16 year old body onto the bed I heard faint footsteps from downstairs. I’m supposed to be here alone. The thought lingered. I remembered the gun that was intricately placed in the drawer beside my grandma’s bed. My dad bought that small but heavy black pistol for Grandma Carol after my grandpa passed away two years ago. I placed the pistol in my hand and stood lost and not knowing what I should make of my situation. The footsteps would get closer and then go away again as if the intruder was contemplating whether he or she should go upstairs or not. I quickly crawled under the bed. The footsteps were loud and heavy now. The intruder was right outside the door.
My heart started to pound faster and faster as the door squeaked and it was flung open. I could tell it was a man. I observed the evenly spaced divots in the bottom of his shoes as he lifted one foot after the other. My hands were shaking, but I made my way to the edge of the bed and I could see him through the excess blankets hanging down. He was looking through the light brown medium sized dresser near the closet door.
It seemed like a lifetime, but he finally left the dresser and crept his way to the closet. After the intruder began his frantic search, I started to slowly slither my body about under the bed. I was trying to figure out my escape plan. The thoughts running through my head were scary, overwhelming, gut wrenching, nerve racking. The most important thought was do I shoot him? Or do I wait for him to finish rummaging through my grandma’s things and leave?
The decision I had to make ate at me like a lion does its prey. My heart was pounding faster than it was before as he kept on with his search. What could he be looking for? Do I know him? Two more thoughts rushed through my head. I tried to place my body in a more comfortable position. Just as I moved my right arm the pistol smacked the brown hardwood floors that lay beneath me. It wasn’t a loud thump, but I knew it was loud enough for him to hear.
I had to make my decision fast. My head was throbbing at this point. I plunged my body out from under the bed and quickly scrambled to my feet. I held the gun in both hands with my right index finger on the trigger. The intruder stood staring at me terrified and blank looking. The question I was faced with came back and seemed more realistic now than it did before.
He tried to run, but I blocked him. I noticed he was armed as well, but he never pulled his gun on me. In all of this mess we never spoke a word to one another. The last time he tried to get past me I pulled the trigger. My right finger moved steadily towards me bringing the half circle shaped trigger with it. The bullet plowed into the man, knocking him backwards onto the bed that once was beautifully made. The light blue shirt placed on the man’s shoulders became a dark red color where the bullet had made its abrupt entrance right below his ribs. I dropped the gun and ran to the white old fashioned phone on the dresser and somehow my fingers frantically dialed 911. The cops were there within ten minutes.
The room that I loved and thought was calm and innocent was now a crime scene. I had shot and killed someone. The thought never left me. Grandma’s house will no longer be the warm comfortable place I grew up in.