"GET DOWN, EVERYONE GET DOWN!"
I whip my head back to see four masked men entering the bank; pointing guns at everyone else who wasn't wearing the ski masks over their face.
And like the snap of a finger, everything slowed down. I watched as one of the men roughly grabbed a elderly woman and pushing her to the ground and saw another man veering out of their group to punch a man in his early 20's for just standing in shock. This seemed to last for minutes instead of the three seconds it actually was.
I could feel the fear and adrenaline pumping through my body, telling me one thing. Run. Butno matter how loud my mind was yelling at me to get out of there, the shock of the situation prevented my legs from moving forward. I felt like my mind was play catch up, unable to understand or accept the horrid scene unfolding right in front of me.
It wasn't until my eyes focused and saw one of the masked men standing in front of me that my brain finally caught up.
I stared into the man's blues eyes—unable to move, fearing that any movement will lead to my demise. We continue this for a few seconds, the ultimate staring contest, until he broke it.
"I said to get the fuck down!" He yelled in my face, grabbing me by the neck and pushing me to the side. My body sliding on the smooth tile floor until my head came into contact with the front counter, stopping my motion altogether.
I closed my eyes for a minute, trying to control the jack-hammering that was happening in my head. I open my eyes when I felt that I could open them and deal with the throbbing in my head without throwing up— but no luck. Once I open my eyes, everything is in a blurry motion, making the image I see look like a spiraling haze that made the attempt not to empting my stomach of the breakfast I had earlier impossible. Once I felt some relief with feeling ill, I roll onto my back, and focus my eyes until I can see clearly. I look to my left to see one of the masked men standing above two men who looked like identical twins and couldn't be no older then 25, and a woman who was covering her three children—none of the children could be older than ten. I turn my head to the right, and the first thing I see is a bright red headed woman, around the age of 23 or 24, with bright mint colored eyes. They have a blood trail flowing down from the top of their forehead, down their cheek, and then trailing down their neck.
Even in the situation I am in, I still blush when I realise they are staring right back at me. But the blush soon vanishes when I recognise the person staring right back at me—It was myself. I could hardly recognise myself with the blood trail going down the one side of my face, the knotting hair, the terrified big green eyes...
I look away from the wall mirror, unable to take in anymore of my current appearance and turn my focus on the one masked men standing guard near the front doors—but in partially hidden from any possible snipers the police may post around the bank.
I wonder if the police even know yet of what is happening. I bitterly think. I slowly move my eyes away from the one masked men to another one who is standing above about ten people. The ten hostages ranging from different ages between being infant to elderly. I look over all their faces, seeing sadness, shock, but mostly fear etched on their faces. My eyes keep trailing the faces until they land on one set of eyes that are looking right back at me. His gold eyes show no sadness, shock, or even fear for this matter. How is he not afraid? He must see the dread in my eyes because he gives me a tight smile, as if reassuring me that everything will be okay. I take in the rest of this man who is obviously in denial to relies that he looks around my age, but probably a good foot taller than me making him around six foot. Similar to his eyes, his slightly curling golden hair covers half of his forehead. He is laying on his stomach, with his hands on his head like everyone else, but myself.
Its right after the reassuring smile the gold eyed man gave me that I realised that all I can hear is a ringing noise. I turn my head toward the ceiling, and close my eyes tight, taking my right hand and pushing my middle finger against my tragus, trying to stop the ringing, but I wish I hadn't. The first thing I hear when the ringing subsides is yelling—and a lot of it. Then next sound that follows is crying and the whispers of some people praying. But all those noises are covered by one man yelling who is the closes to me. I turn my head to see one of the masked men yelling at someone who I can't see over the counter.
As if sensing my glaze, the man turns his head and looks down at me, his sky blue eyes looking almost, regretful—he was the same man who pushed me. He turns his attention back to the person on the other side of the counter.
Okay guys, if you guys want to see how this story goes, please leave me a review and tell me or just follow. I don't know how much time I can put into this story, but if there are enough people who want to see how this story goes, I can find time to write this story.