I ran.
With all the strength I could gather I ran. There was shouting and screaming everywhere. I even heard a few prayers. It was a little too late for that. God couldn’t save us. I used to think that God could only save you if you tried to save yourself first. We failed. We never tried to save ourselves. We just folded. No one could help us. My wife, my kids, my brothers and sisters are gone. I was all that was left. And I could think just one thing.
Run.
It started late last night. We were all asleep in bed just before midnight. I always went to sleep early on New Year’s Eve. Gunfire never excited me. Living in L.A it was just something you had to deal with so I tried. I could already hear a few gunshots in the distance. I pulled the pillow over my head to muffle the sound. My wife groaned as my two daughters tossed between the two of us. Suddenly there were more gunshots. It must be midnight. I pulled the pillow tighter against my head. The gunshots got louder. I have never heard so many. It sounded like a war outside. Then there was an explosion. Me and my wife sat up in bed and looked at each other.
“What was that?“ she asked.
“Some idiot probably blew out a transformer shooting at it“ I said. I was trying to convince myself more than her. Then the screaming started.
“I’m scared“ one of my daughters said. They were twins. Donna and Danielle. I gave them a kiss on the cheek each and climbed from bed.
“What’re you doing, Tony?“ my wife asked.
“I’m gonna see what’s going on“ I tell her. “I’ll be right back.“
“Just get back into bed, baby“ she said. “Let the police handle this.“ That comment cut me. She knew it did. I know she didn’t mean it that way. I worked as a security guard at a bank. I had been trying to join the L.A.P.D for the past five years and have been rejected every time. “Sorry.“ More gunfire from outside. “Just get back into bed.“
“I can’t do that“ I tell her. I walk over to the closet and get my .45 from a shoe box I kept out of reach of my daughters on the top shelf. I looked over my shoulder to make sure they don’t see the gun. They have their faces buried in the pillows. Good.
“Baby…“ my wife says to me. “Be careful.“
“I will“ I tell her. It’s the last thing I ever said to her. You always imagine that the last words you'll ever say to someone you love will be something romantic or powerful. “I will“ is neither. I put on a pair of jeans and a sweater. They say that there is no cold weather in L.A. Well, I’ve lived here my entire life. 55 is cold to me. I slip on a pair of sneakers and head outside. I see all of my neighbors in front of their apartments. This entire street is packed. A few blocks away there is a huge fire. From the looks of it I’d say it was near the church. “Has anyone called the fire department?“ I ask.
“Line’s are dead“ the guy that lives below my place named Tim says. “Even my cell phone won’t work. This is bullshit.“
I grab my cell out of my sweaters front pocket and switch it on and sure enough there is no signal. Just as I put it back in my pocket another explosion tears apart the sky. This one was even closer. Then another. At the end of the block the building seems to rise from the ground before exploding. Everyone runs. I turn to head back into my apartment to save my family but am blown away when the front entrance seems to swell before knocking me back. I clear my head just in time to see my building burst into flames. I can hear my wife and daughters screaming inside. I rush to the flames when someone tackles me to the ground. It’s Tim’s son Jonathon. He plays football at Dorsey High. He’s a big kid and I’d be lying if I said he didn’t hurt me.
“Is you crazy, dawg?“ he asks me. “You betta start movin’!“
“My family’s in there!“ I shout at him.
“Ain’t nobody in there now!“ he says. The entire building was burning and on the verge of collapse. I could hear the frame buckling like an animal in its death throes. My eyes water but not just from the smoke. My family is dead. Jonathon grabs me by the arm and pulls me across the street. The apartments are starting to explode on the entire street. He practically has to drag me to his fathers’ truck. Tim is a contractor and has a large black Ford. I climb in on legs made of jelly. I can’t stop looking at my home. It crumbles to the ground and flames shoot into the sky.
