I'm flashing back to an earlier post about growing up. I'm trying to think of more stories about me. The goal is to find some that a) won't completely embarrass me and b) won't give away too much about another person.
Ooh, here's one, about a really scary day.
When I was in junior high (it was junior high, because it was only 7th and 8th grades, not like this middle school crap.) one of my best friends was a guy named Mark. We really were just buddies, and I guarded him jealously, as I do with all my friends. We only lived like 5 minutes from each other, so sometimes we'd get together and walk up to the cute little ice cream shop/drug store that was nearby. (It really was walk up, too, not a bad hill unless you're walking or riding a bike.)
We were crossing the median, just BSing, when a car drove by, slowed down, and a passenger took out a gun and shot Mark. It was a good shot too, got him right in the breastbone. I froze. He fell down, and I just froze. I didn't know what to do. There was red all over his chest.
He then opened his eyes and looked at me. He was shocked, too, and I just stood there. Then he started to try to get up. I think that he groaned that he hurt.
Turns out, the fuckhead who shot him used a paintball gun. Mark was OK, but had a wicked bruise for a while.
And that was the first time I ever knew abject, pure terror.
I kinda miss Mark. I last heard from him when I was 18. I wonder if I could find some of his letters, find his last name, and see if I can stalk him on Facebook.
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Jesus Christ! That's pretty horrifying. While I was in the states I was fired at with malicious intent on at least three occasions. Once in my car, and twice while riding my bicycle. One guy shot the tyre off of my bike. The magic of Houston. I moved to England and got mugged by a crackhead with a mean fist, who battered the hell out of my while I tried to reason with him. I won't try that next time. - John Evans
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