There's a guy sitting on a park bench reading a newspaper...
...but then he's gone. Yes, his body is still there with the newspaper hanging loosely in the grip of his right hand, but the man himself is not there. I guess he escaped from the bullet hole in his chest, or maybe the one in his temple, but one thing is for sure, there isn't a man there anymore.
The loud cracks that made him disappear are replaced with the sound of sirens in the distance. People will come, good people, who will patch up his escape routes and send him off to the hospital. But it doesn't matter, there isn't a man anymore.
Tomorrow the man will be on TV. But he wont actually be on TV, just his picture and his story. The TV will tell us to contact the number if we have any information on how the man disappeared. I'll ask daddy if we should call, but he'll say no.
The man's family is probably sad now. His wife without a husband, mother without a son, daughters without a daddy. I feel kind of bad for them. They lost someone important to two simple bangs.
The man will still be on the news. But still, it's only an image. The lady will say that they haven't caught the killer yet. The number is thrown on the screen, but I won't call.
His funeral will be a week after his escape. I bet there will be pretty flowers and music, and funny pictures of him with his family. There will be a lot of emotion at the viewing, tears of joy and sadness, of remembrance and regret. I wish I could go.
The man was on the news today again. The police have found a lead. They have the bullet casings and only a few people have guns that match. Interrogations have started. They throw the number up again, but daddy will say that calling is stupid.
I bet the family will be happy, knowing that the police are getting close to finding the bad person. They finally will get closure and justice! Uncle will say that justice is good. I asked daddy, I don't think he'll care.
My daddy will take me to a bulding. We rode in a car that had lights on the top and they made loud noises. It'll be kinda like the noise after the cracks were done, but not exactly.
Daddy will get to put on special bracelets and stay in a room made out of bars. They'll take me to a normal room, with a table and spinny chairs. They'll ask me what happened. I'll tell them that daddy gave me a black thingy and said the man was bad and needed to run away.
I'll get put in a place with a lot of other kids who don't have mommies or daddies either. People won't look at me normally any more. But that'll be okay, because I'm not normal. Daddy told me so. I'll never see daddy again. Not him, anyways. I'll see his picture though, on the TV, right next to mine.
Whoaaaaa! Yeah, that was a prompt from school, the first sentence, and you know, I just had to think of murder. But not just any murder, a little kid murdering someone. What the heckles is wrong with me? Might expand on this might not. Let me knowwwww! -Nikki-J