2015 -- 8.1 (Fall) Fiction

Disjointed Reaction to a Scream

By Brandie Hyde

Hearing the shrill shriek caused her muscles to freeze mid-stride with only forward momentum providing the little extra nudge thus forcing the otherwise stop-motion foot to at last drop from its state of momentary suspended animation.

Her eyes slam closed as if to keep the recalled detail specifics from escaping the swirling centrifuge at work in her skull. Had the person who uttered the sound been a woman? A man?

A manly girl? Or a girly man? Not that sex, gender, or identity mattered per se, but it is a factor in terms of deducing a superior approach. Had it originated from a forward or a back alley? From the left or from the right? Was there any other clue to be gleaned from that split second? An informed decision is key.

Her eyes reopen following the near instantaneous blink which felt so much longer while the snap analyzation was conducted. Alone she ran against the sea of others who, in choosing to ignore the potential danger, had quickly spun on their heels 180 degrees opting to mind their own business.

Others flee as she passes in favor of pursuing the origin point most likely, and she readies herself to take on whatever scene she may encounter and simultaneously observant enough to testify to details in court.

The oddity of her otherwise gun loving nation, she didn’t see the necessity for them and thus didn’t have one nor cared to.

A problem with guns? They’re too easy, too disconnected, and she feared they may take her to a place she doesn’t care to go. There’s no such thing as unarmed as people have been killing one another from the beginning, so she didn’t need a manufactured tool developed specifically for that singular purpose.

A person who needs to be packing heat to defend themselves and are incapable of doing so by any other means were wussies… guns are for pus—-.

Rounding the corner and witnessing the act in progress she closes in… 3… 2… 1… showtime.

Bio: My name is Brandie and as a resident of the North Port / East Venice area, I’m what they call a “displaced homemaker” who in light of her situation decided it was time to crank out a few degrees at long last in hopes of landing a position making a Living wage. I’ve learned well enough by now that making any sort of “plans” is an utterly pointless and futile exercise, at least so far as I’m concerned anyway. That’s not to say it’s for lack of trying mind you… things just rarely go ‘as planned’. To counter this, I typically have a contingency, or two for that matter, at the ready. I was never a Girl Scout, but as a general rule I prefer to be prepared as opposed to the alternative.