Steemfluencers Second Writing Challenge - Task #3 - The Shooter

This is my LATE entry into Steemfluencer's writing Challenge Task #3. Write about a news story.

Author's Note: This one is going to be a little dark. Just a forwarning.

I saw this on the local news and thought writing from the Hero perspective would be good. But then I started trying to get into the mind of the shooter, and decided there was a totally different story there.

More details are slowly emerging about the case, but motive has not come out yet. So this is an entirely fictional tail based on my own conjecture.

Image Source: PixaBay User Kalhh

It's getting hot.

I suppose this is why they are always on the news talkin' bout people not leaving kids in the car. I been sitting here fifteen minutes and it's about intollerable in here.

A bead of sweat trickles down my face and I reach up to swat it away. No distractions. But this heat. The heat is getting to me.

A glance at my watch reveals it is 11:10. Church will be letting out soon. It is almost time. Check everything again. In the passanger seat, my weapons of choice. Two hand guns, loaded, safety off. I check my hip, the knife is there ready for if I run out of ammo and still have targets to deal with. My hand goes from my hip up to my chest holster, the third gun is there, loaded and ready.

A nod of satisfaction. The infidel will burn with the heat of gunfire engulfing him. Wiping sweat away from my forehead my hand reaches up to the mask sitting atop my head. It will be uncomfortable, but allah permitting I am able to leave this place, it will help me escape detection. The half mask is lowered to cover eyes and nose.

My hands reach for the guns sitting next to me. The metal is hot to the touch, having been exposed to the same sun which has caused the sweat to break out on my skin. The warmth is good. The metal becomes a part of my hand. My fingers find the trigger and push, ever so gently, getting a feel for the trigger point. All is readiness.

My head bows for a prayer. My God is mightier than theirs. He will reign in triumph, and I will join him in paradise. Today if he calls, later if he wills it so.

My prayer is disturbed by a sound. I look up to see the doors of the church opening and a woman exits the building. It is early. Service should not quite be done yet. I could allow her to leave. I could let just one person escape. Or she could be the first. The first to find out how wrong she is in the God she chooses to serve.

A Righteous Rage fills me. There will be no escape. These people and their false idols must pay and have their eyes opened to the truth of Allah.

Opening the car door from my Blue SUV with gun in hand is not the easiest thing in the world, but I am able to do it quietly. Watching the woman the entire time. She seems unaware of my pressence. This is good. I step from the vehicle. I think I am silent, but I must make some sound as she turns, too late.

The crack of a gunshot startles even me, and I was prepared for it. The woman falls backward, blood flying as the bullet takes her in the chest. My aim is not so good. I'm not sure if I have killed her or simply wounded, so I take steps over to her and take a second shot just to be sure.

I realize, perhaps too late, that those inside will have been alerted by the noise that something was going on outside. I must hurry now. Whether the woman is dead or not is secondary. She may not be allowed to be the only victim.

I run to the door of the church and fling the door open, guns at the ready. As I suspected, people are coming toward the door, and I begin to fire into the crowd. All are infidels, so I need not discriminate in my aim. Turn, raise, pull the trigger, repeat.

The air is filled with the sound of gunshots and screaming. I can smell the burning gunpowder, and something else. Something new. It has a salty musky smell. Is this the smell of the blood of the infidel. If so, I must soak it in. My nostrils flair as the unfamiliar scent fills them with the promise of the infidel's suffering.

Then, suddenly, my eye catches movement off to the side. Someone was coming at me, and I had not seen him. He is close, too close to shoot. Too fast for me to get to my knife. He grabs at my wrists, managing to grab one. We tustle. He is young, and strong. But so am I. And I have the strength of righteousness behind me. I bring my free arm around and knock the butt of my gun into his head. He falls to the ground with a groan, and a snap. I realize his arm has been stuck under my shoulder and his quick fall may have broken the arm producing the snap. I raise my own arm, releasing him to fall completely to the ground.

Turning back to the room, people have taken the opportunity to run for other exists. But one man is coming closer. He is brave for an infidel. My eyes scan him, and see the glint of metal in his hand. No... he is armed! He is screaming at me.

I will not be shot by the infidel! I raise my gun and pull the trigger, but it is empty! I drop it and reach for the gun at my chest. I begin to pull the gun free of it's holster, finger finding the trigger. A final gunshot cracks out through the church.

Pain. Infinite pain. It spreads from my chest and consumes me. Looking down I see a stain of red spreading through my shirt. My body falls to the floor, a body I no longer control for the pain. I look to the man who shot me, but he seems just as bewilder as I am. Everything is slow motion as I fall.

The gun I had pulled out falls to the ground, the barrel smoking. What is this? I did not fire on the man. I did not get the gun free of my chest. How can this be?

Pain rushes over me, and my eyesight goes black. The pain fades with my consciousness.

I awake some time later in a hospital bed. I am chained by handcuffs. An officer watches over me and gives me a sneer. "tried to shoot yourself huh? Well you aren't getting off that easy. No virgins for you dickhead."

I do not understand what the man is saying. I am prepared to die a martyr, but I did not shoot myself. But then the memory comes back. The smoking barrel, the flowering pain. Perhaps I did pul lthe trigger. But it was an accident. There were more infidels to destroy!

I attempt to sit up, fighting my restraints, anger giving me strength. A woman in white, a nurse, comes along beside the bed, making a "tut, tut" sound as she pushes some buttons on a machine next to me. I begin to ask what she is doing, but I am suddenly very sleepy. Too sleepy. What has she done. My world fades to blackness once again as the medicine washes over me.

My last thought as I lose consciousness, the fact that I will not send any more infidels to their fate. My crusade is over.

-On Sunday, September 24th, Emanuel Samson, 25, of Sudan, opened fire at the end of a church service in Antioch Tennessee. He killed 1 and injured 7 others before accidentally shooting himself and being detained. The church Usher is being hailed as a hero as he wrestled with Samson, preventing the man from carrying out more shooting.

There are conflicting reports of how Samson was brough to shoot himself. Some reports say that he accidently shot himself during his struggle with the usher. Others have said that a member of the congregation with a concealed carry permit confronted Samson and the man shot himself rather than face another gunman.

Thanks for reading!