Blood trickled down Chance’s face. He lay unconscious
in his mangled car.
A man stepped out of the SUV. He stealthily moved
closer to Chance’s defenseless body. Light caught on the silver plated handgun
clutched in his fist. The gun pointed at Chance’s head in one swift moment.
The black streets were completely quiet. Nothing
seemed to move, as if the Earth was holding her breath, anxiously begging
Chance to wake up. Moments slowly passed and the only audible sounds were the
slow compression of the gun’s trigger and the slow tapping of gas dripping to
the ground.
A vibration of a phone sliced through the heavy
silence. The humming gently pierced Chance’s consciousness and he began to stir.
Groggy, he tried lifting his laden head, but he felt so bruised and weak.
He reached for his phone on the last vibration, but
missed the incoming call.
The loud gunshot ran through the night. Chance
instinctively ducked. The bullet pierced the steering wheel where Chance had
just rested his head. Gunshots peppered the outside of Chance’s car.
With his mind still clouded from the crash, Chance
could only hide and pray that the bullets wouldn’t hit him.
Chance knew the gunman was approaching. The volume of
each successive gunshot was increasing steadily. He had to find a way out.
Adrenaline started to kick in. Chance reached under
the passenger seat.
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