Snatched…Part IV: the beginning…unedited…

There’s something about restless slumber that further exhausts an individual. To Konan, he felt as if someone had tried to smother him with a wet blanket. 

He sat up on the side of the bed and tried figure out why he heard banging and screams outside of his trailer.

“Get out here, white man! Face justice for your transgressions.”

Konan picked up the shotgun by his bed, a Mossberg 590, which he kept loaded with slugs. The only attachment on the tactical shotgun, a Sure-Fire flashlight, rested on the side of the barrel.

“Coming,” Konan muttered. 

He peeked through the blinds at the crowd of people standing in his yard. Some had Molotov cocktails in one hand, a lighter in the other.

Konan kicked his front door open and stepped outside.

“Ooh…oh…man. Hold up,” a young black man said as he backed up. Konan pulled the weapon tight into his shoulder and backed the man up. 

“You’re trespassing,” Konan said quietly. 

“Look man, we just upset, okay. Don’t pull the trigger, baby…don’t pull the trigger….”

Somewhere in the crowd someone hollered, “rush that fool! He can’t kill us all!”

“Your friends don’t think a whole lot about you, do they?”

“No, sir. Please don’t pull the trigger.”

“I have six slugs loaded in this shotgun. Your friend is right, I can’t kill you all. However, the first dozen or so are going to hell before I get there. I’m going to say this one time, go home.”

The crowd muttered and milled around for several moments, but no one decided to push their luck that night. A few ‘man that crazy white dude won’t shoot nobody,’ echoed from the crowd but nobody cared to try their luck. Slowly, the crowd dissipated. Soon, the only two left in the yard were Konan and the black man he aimed the shotgun at.

“Sir, please…”

“Shut up.”

Konan listened to the sounds of the evening, but he couldn’t hear any protestors near his property. He lifted the shotgun to his shoulder. The black man sobbed and fell to his knees.

“You made me pee myself, that ain’t right.”

“You come to my house, uninvited, threaten violence on me and then have the audacity to complain about how I treated you. You’re too stupid to live. Please tell me that you’re not a father.”

“I have six kids.”

“What kind of idiot would breed with you? You know what, never mind. Go home, and I better never see your face again. Otherwise, I’m gonna kill you on principle.”

“Yes sir, you won’t see me again.”

Konan watched as the man hightailed it from his yard. He sighed and walked back to his home. “God, I’m too old for this crap,” Konan muttered as he walked in and shut the door.

He leaned the shotgun next to the sink and made him a cup of coffee. Konan knew he would not get any rest, so he dressed, sipped his coffee, and waited.

The sun would rise soon, and he might as well be ready for whatever the new day would bring.

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