“BOOM” I thought it was in my dream but I could still hear it, and I was clearly awake. I sat up and jumped to my feet. I then reached under my dresser where I kept the Louisville slugger my dad gave to me when I moved out to live on my own. I tip toed over to the door and grabbed the handle. I slowly opened it. I peeked out and listened for a few seconds. The sound, it was coming from the kitchen. I opened the door a little further but I couldn’t see anything so I creeped my way down the hallway. I was holding the bat above my head with both hands, the tightest grip possible, ready to swing. I turned the corner into the dinning room and that’s when I knew where the noise was coming from.
There was someone standing in my kitchen. A man. He looked to be in his thirties, about 5”10’ and probably two-hundred pounds. He had shaggy black hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in days, along with his clothes.
I started to run towards him.
“Get the h*ll out of my house!” I yelled. “BAM” I hit him smack dab in the middle of his forehead. I brought the bat back and swung again. That time he fell to the floor. I was so scared, I had so much adrenalin pumping, I continued to hit him another six or seven times. Now he was bleeding, there was so much blood I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. “Well at least he couldn’t hurt me!” I thought to myself.
And that’s when I noticed; he was holding a white envelope in his hand. I reached down and quickly grabbed it. He didn’t move.
“What is it?” I wondered. I flipped it over so I could see the front. In beautiful black ink cursive it said “A special gift for you”. I grabbed the top right corner and slowly ripped it open. My heart was pounding like drums at a concert. I reached my hand in and grabbed the one little piece of paper that it contained. I pulled it out. It was a check, written to my name and it said one million dollars.
At that point I began to freak out. “Is this real? One million dollars, and its for me? I don’t understand what’s going on.” That’s when I remembered; “there is possibly a dead man in my kitchen! And it’s my fault. I can’t believe I hurt him!” I wasn’t sure exactly what to do. I contemplated calling 911, “maybe this man can be saved, but will I get in trouble? Did I murder him? Will I have to go to jail? What about the check? Will I still get to keep it?” Then I thought about my other option, “I can go deposit the check and I will become rich, I can buy a new car, and go on a shopping spree. I could probably even pay someone to get rid of this bloody man. Plus, I can still be rich!” I looked down at him with the envelope in my left hand and the phone in my right.
That’s when I had to decide the price I would pay to live a tainted life. Would I have to make a deal with the devil?