Shot Fifteen Times

Shot fifteen times, clutching

his chest, he fell over the

the railing and tumbled into

the flower garden now brown

in the winter’s coldness. He

lay lifeless but still breathing

rapidly. After a few seconds

miraculously he arose from

the dead and without even

brushing off the wood chips,

somersaulted and swerved his

way around the next wave

of bullets. He jumped behind

the lone Maple in the front

yard, drew his gun and

unleashed a barrage of

bullets that no enemy

could ignore or survive. Smiling

and full of himself and his

virtue, he knew the good guy

had won again. The storm

door opened, his mother

called to him not to

get his “Going to Church

Clothes” dirty.  In her

hand she held a Sunday

School pin with the inscription

“Jesus Paid it All,” and said,

“Don’t forget your perfect

attendance pin.” Fifty-five

years later, a scrawny kid

broke a window, climbed

through, hauling his arsenal,

entered the classroom and

blasted the enemy – twenty

some first graders — to

smithereens.  His mother

wasn’t there to tell him to

get ready for church. She had

five bullets in her head. The

man who had had fifteen shots

to the chest years and years ago

and who had survived so many

battles between the Cavalry and

the Indians also taking place

in his parents’ front yard sat

in the coffee shop watching

a man on TV say that the

way to stop a bad man

with a gun is a good man

with a gun and


1 thought on “Shot Fifteen Times

  1. Well done … the world of adolescent imagination is what drives much of the gun-talk for the NRA – they all see themselves as heroes … doing daring things to save their world, or whatever … and then, for some, it all goes haywire. But the imagination makes it all right.

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