158 Grain Hollow Points
The family consisted of one woman and six children all under the age of sixteen. The woman was a janitor with a heart of gold. She lived with her children in a rundown unheated brick pile over on Jefferson Street. It was a dangerous, drug filled neighborhood, but it was all that she could afford. She was the type of mother who took what little money that didn't go for her rent and food and bought her children small treats. No amount of pain and suffering could cause this woman to lose her focus. She was dedicated to her children, and would lay down her life for them.
On that January 17th she put all her children to sleep in a small crowded room with donated mattresses, and she waited a half hour or so to finally rest her weary body. And then a moment of pure terror. It started with some sort of thunderous banging, some kind of battering ram, was heaving against the front door. Metal hitting rotting wood in the darkness. Shrill high pitched noises spilled in, as a violent, nocturnal rush clattered toward the sleeping family, bullying its way through the dark hallway.
.38's drawn with 158 grain hollow points. Weapons that could cause tremendous damage.
Beyond the darkness of her bedroom she could see the shadows floating by, knocking over everything in their way. The raid was precise and demanding. The violence was accurate and persisting.
The shadows would walk through a cramped labyrinth of closets and hallways as they started shooting at everything that moved. The raid was mentally long, but in reality it only lasted two minutes.
One of the shadows picked up a plastic chair and slammed it upright so hard that it bounced. He realized that they had done something wrong.
The worst had come and gone, as the young mother fell to her knees at the opening of her bedroom door. Her mind would spin and go off in so many different directions. She couldn't reel in the reality. She then started to listen to her own eulogy, her children would no longer suffer from poverty, ridicule and ignorance. They would no longer miss a meal, envy other children at Christmas, or wonder where their father was.
The death of her children was a terrible tragedy and all that would remain for her was the crying and the pain.
The flashlights all went on at the same time completely lighting up the bedroom. The lead detective allowed his eyes to drift slowly into the light and he realized that they raided the wrong home. The police source that said that the drug-lords they were looking for at that address was incorrect. His heart could not stop pounding and his head throbbed. The heels of his hands were shot through with pain. His teeth were clenched and a buzzing sound invaded his brain. He felt as if his head might explode. His strength had left him as he leaned against the wall and slowly slid down until he was in a seated and deflated position...
© 2015 Frank Atanacio
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