Andy C
Well-known
Don’t move. Don’t even twitch or I’m going to send your brains right through the front door and out the back,” said a youngish-sounding female voice. The shotgun alone would have convinced me, but the utter calm of her voice made it clear as a bell to me that she would do exactly as she said.
I closed my eyes, and as gently as I could, said, “Please, put the gun down. I won’t move till you tell me I can, but I’d feel a whole lot better without that shotgun pointed at my head.” I tried not to wet my pants or sound like a pre-teen boy whose voice slides up and down the register.
“Put your hands up high where I can see ’em, very slowly,” said the feminine voice.
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I closed my eyes, and as gently as I could, said, “Please, put the gun down. I won’t move till you tell me I can, but I’d feel a whole lot better without that shotgun pointed at my head.” I tried not to wet my pants or sound like a pre-teen boy whose voice slides up and down the register.
“Put your hands up high where I can see ’em, very slowly,” said the feminine voice.
Alice Johnson Childs Archives
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