THE WITNESS: INTRODUCTION
THE WITNESS.
What is a witness if not a passer-by? A normal person in the wrong place at the wrong time. An unfortunate human being who left work, school, home a second too late, too early. Addison. The witness. Strolling down Carvey Lane, listening to Guns and Roses like lots of teenagers do. Her strawberry blonde hair waving in the wind, distracting drivers from left and right. Her lightly glossed lips shining with health. Her mind clear of all worry, set on senior year which she’s not even that worried about. Currently however her mind is primarily set on her current destination. Damien Brighton’s house. – “It will finally happen!” she thinks. As much impure thoughts as innocent, as much good as bad. Her eyes have never shone as bright as they did when she turned the corner of Carvey and Frobisher. Her eyes meet his house, one last stretch.
A car speeds by, black, unidentifiable. Her heart skips a beat as it comes to a screeching halt not too far ahead of her. A man of dark hair and a slightly darker brown, almost black complexion steps out of the car, his eyes an unusual blue, his suit without a wrinkle, how dare it. He lifts the side of his shirt simultaneously pulling out a glock pistol, then aiming it at a passers-by head. Addison stops breathing. She glances at the man’s eyes, lowers them to the glock pistol, to his finger on the trigger, she takes a deep breath then the finger pulls it. She watches as the bullet leaves the barrel and enters the passers-by head. Slowly as if time had been in in a collision and was decelerating. The cold blue eyes meet hers once again. No regret.
The passer-by tumbled to the ground. Dead. His eyes lifeless and open. His breath had now stopped completely. His body stiff as that of a kid at the chalk board solving a math problem to which he does not know the answer.
Her heart pounds like a machine. Her mind spirals and loses all direction as she just stands there. Still. The shooter turns around and points the gun at her chest. Her mind blanks and her vision blurs. She says goodbye to herself. Yet, he just lowers the gun to her spleen and fires a clean shot.
She grabs her phone out of her back pocket and uncertainly dials 911, her fingers slipping off the screen. *dial tone*. She slowly murmurs the details she can remember. Car. Man. Gun. Blood. Blood. Blood. She grabs her stomach, fresh, red blood engulfs her hands. The sound of screeching tires sounds once again. Her eyes tire to the image of Damien Brighton running like hell towards her, removing his shirt and ripping open hers. Then pressing the clean shirt to her wound and kicking aside her now completely reddened with blood iconic Nike crop top. – “Stay with me Addy, please stay with m…”
Her eyes blink one last time and her mouth attempts to speak. But cannot. Her eyelids lower slowly as her vision fades away into darkness.
