They Shot Him
Shots ring out. He falls to the pavement. They shot him. I can’t believe they shot him.
The car speeds away. It doesn’t have a muffler so the engine is loud. Real loud. I can hear the shooter's car getting further away.
Until nothing at all.
As I run towards my friend's body, my thoughts go on rapid fire.
What am I doing here?
How can I get out of here?
How did I get here in the first place?
The bullet is still inside of him, but he’s alive. We have to move fast. We load him into the front seat of the car.
I take my place in the back. He reaches for my hand. I grab it.
On our way to the hospital, he pleads with me, It hurts Tim. It hurts so bad.
I don’t want to hold his hand. I want to get as far away as possible, I want to run. Go home, hide under my covers.
But his grip is too tight. My body, too numb.
This was the night that made me question what I was doing with my life. The night I realized that the person with the most to lose, usually does.
It's in moments of extreme crisis that compel us to reevaluate our priorities, reassess our surroundings, and make significant life changes.
It was this experience that propelled me to leave the place where I grew up, and move to NYC.
Where the next chapter of my story began.