Bullet From the Gun

When it had happened he had been eating ice cream,

It happened so fast it felt like a dream.

He had been walking down Main Street,

When a sudden voice had said "Admit defeat".

Confused, he had only blinked,

And then it had happened before he had time to think.

A gun at his head,

He had been told to look straight ahead.

"Look ahead" the voice had said,

"And you may not wind up dead".

The voice had said, "Listen to me",

"Or you will cease to be".

Heart racing,

His lungs were aching.

They begged for more air,

But to breathe brought such a scare.

He knew the voice thought it was such fun,

To give him a bullet from the gun.

In a moment of panic he twisted and turned,

But it didn't work, as he soon learned.

A thunderous sound,

A frightening pound,

And then he was down.

Down in the gutter he lay,

Half-lidded eyes watching the owner of the voice run away.

Sirens sounded,

And his heart pounded.

In this gutter he lie,

Waiting for the time to die.

Knowing that he wasn't getting out,

He didn't even have the strength to pout.

His breaths became shallow,

And when he laughed his voice was hallow.

As his breaths began to fade,

One last attempt at getting up was made.

As he failed at that,

He knew it had been his last at bat.

Strike three he was out,

He knew it without a doubt.

Sighing into the gutter,

He felt his heart flutter.

By the time the paramedics came he heard them say,

"Hang in there buddy, you won't die today".

His laugh was watery and weak,

And he found he didn't even have the strength to speak.

One paramedic gripped his should and said, "Are you with us?"

And then he heard one of them cuss.

The paramedics watched as he faded away,

At 3;54 on the twelfth of May.