“Bang!” A loud shot rings off past my right ear- I could feel the air whistle past. Having learned from past encounters, I duck behind a nearby tree. From what I can see, there’s four groupers, but only one is armed. I would like to say this has happened so many times that I was cool and collected, but, truthfully, my heart and mind are racing faster than ever.
I grab my brother's revolver from my waistband, clutching it so hard my knuckles turn pale white. “Show yourself... NOW... and we’ll let you live!” one of them shouts. Obviously, I didn’t listen to that. I’ve been on my own long enough to know groupers never let a roamer live-the nicest ones deal out a quick death- there are only so many resources left on this planet. I take a deep breath and exhale, then whip around the tree and fire at the shooter’s feet. Immediately, the groupers fled, not expecting a roamer to defend himself. I slowly sink to the ground, using the tree to lower myself, thankful that I’m safe.
***…show more content… I know, I sound like a classic masshole- because I am. I’m somewhere in west Boston near a yuppie town called Chesnut Hill. Hopefully I can stumble my way back into Boston. I need to get to my old home in Southie, but who knows how long that’ll take.
