King Park

                                                                                  King Park





I heard a bullet whiz right past my head.





         Earlier in the day I had gotten myself into the situation. It was, of course, the same mistake I had been making the full 20 years of my life; pleasing people. The entirety of my life it seemed nearly impossible to deny anyone anything. ‘Hey man you wanna try some of this?’ ‘Bro you should definitely help me with something’, not matter what the request was and no matter how badly I wanted to say no I couldn’t say it. The word just isn’t in my vocabulary I guess.

         So that’s how the whole situation began. I was hanging out with some friends after my college classes had gotten over when we saw him. It was a kid I had in my math class. He was short, skinny, with curly brown hair and freckles. He was shy, kind of weird. He was the type of kid you felt bad for but turned around and made jokes about seconds later; the type of kid who might shoot up their school.

         “Hey isn’t that kid in our math class? His name’s Scott or something like that I think.”

         “Yeah” I reply to my friend, “Yeah he’s kind of weird; sits in the back of class and reads every day.”

         “Say something to him.” It’s my friend on the left this time, and when he says it he begins laughing as though already knowing I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity.

         “Like what?” I ask. I may not be afraid to say something to him but coming up with the material might pose the real problem.

         “I don’t know. Call him a name or something. Just say something funny.”

         I take a second to think of something, watching him begin to unlock his car and finally shout out “Nice car faggot!” my friends on both sides of me begin laughing and nudging my side with their elbows as though to say ‘keep going. This kid is pathetic’.

         I didn’t feel great about what I was doing, but hey what’s the worst that could happen? And I mean it’s funny so who cares? He’ll get over it.

         “Did you not hear me troll? I said nice car faggot. Your boyfriend buy you that?”

         At first he tried ignoring me but by this point we had gotten closer to him and he seemed to be growing impatient. “Why don’t you guys just leave me alone?”

         “God you’re so pathetic. Can’t even fight back? I feel bad for you dude.”

         “Yeah?” he began in bravery “Well I feel bad for you. I’ve seen you in math class and I swear you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

         He may have been smarter than me but I knew when it came to physicality I had him outmatched greatly. I pushed him up against the car, smashing his head against the driver’s side window. At the same time, while putting him in a chokehold, I said “Don’t mess with me kid. You’re small and I’m big, and the bigger person always wins. Keep that in mind.” I shoved his small frame onto the ground and spit on him before kicking a dent into the side of his car and walking off laughing. I looked into his eyes one more time before completely walking away. They were filled with despair and something else. Desire. Revenge.

         My friends followed closely behind laughing and telling me how funny that was. I didn’t feel good about picking on the kid, but making them laugh and gaining their approval once again was my goal, and I achieved it. I turned to my friend on the left before parting ways and said “Hey we still hanging out at your place tonight? I don’t have my car.”

         “Yeah just walk to King Park. I’ll pick you up there at 7 O’clock.”



         The time went on and finally it became time to meet up with my friend at the park. I walked over across the park at the spot I knew my friend would pick me up. Suddenly I heard a car speed up about 50 yards from where I stood and I heard a voice scream “Bigger gun wins this time!”

         I heard a bullet whiz past my head. And then another one. Neither hit me but they both seemed extremely close, close enough for me to hear and feel them as they shot by in anger. The car drove off leaving me unharmed and in a state of shock when I looked directly behind where I stood to see a kid, maybe a few years younger than myself, lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

         “What the hell?” I said it out loud but to myself as well. I asked what his name was, frantically trying to get an answer out of him but he remained silent. I grabbed him, one of my hands stabilizing his head from the back and the other holding onto his back. With complete disregard for my now bloodstained clothes I began shaking him, with all my might trying to get a response from him.

         “Are you okay?” “Stay awake!” “what’s your name?” “Please say something!” It was frantic, all of it. Everything I said. I began panicking, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say. I didn’t know how to feel. My entire body seemed to go numb and everything around me went blurry. The swings at the park, the jungle gym, the basketball courts, everything went fuzzy just like an old television set. Everything except for the limp body that lay in front of me and the blood stained grass that seemed to be spreading. And my hands. His blood was on my hands.

         I couldn’t think. My brain seemed unable to process thought just as my body seemed unable to move, but still somehow I found myself reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone. Without even knowing what I was doing I promptly dialed 9-1-1 and placed the now bloody piece of technology to my ear.

         “Hello 9-1-1 what is your emergency?” I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say. A moment passed before the operator repeated herself. “9-1-1 what is your emergency? Hello are you there?”

         “Yeah I’m here. Sorry.” It was all I could make out. I had no idea what to say or where to begin. My body still seemed frozen in time. I stood still while everything around me whirled around at a hundred miles an hour, leaving me dizzy and confused. I looked back down at the body of the young boy and suddenly remembered why I had called.

         “Yeah I’m here. Sorry. I’m at King Park. Some kid, 16 maybe 17, just got shot. There’s blood everywhere! You have to hurry up! I don’t think he’s alive but I don’t know for sure! Please hurry up, I don’t know what to do and I’m scared!”

         “We actually already got a call about that just a few minutes ago. An ambulance should be there any second.”

         “Thank you!” I hung up. They already got a call? That means someone else saw everything that happened. But who? Maybe just someone else driving or walking by. I don’t know why exactly but I felt somewhat relieved after hearing that.

         The ambulance arrived soon after, along with a police car. I filled out witness report about what happened and the cop gave me a ride home. I was shaking the whole way home, I could feel it. I had never seen anything brutal like that at all. The worst thing I had ever seen was one of my friends getting beat up sophomore year in high school by a senior. He left with a broken nose and a black eye, but death. I have never seen death before, and for someone so young, he was younger than me, it was terrifying. Why did the shooter want that kid dead? Was it because he owed him money? Was he a bully? Was it random? No matter what the cause it cannot possibly be justified. I saw a high school age kid murdered today. A mother would have to bury her own son. I couldn’t shake that off.

         As soon as I got home I turned on the TV so that I could see if anything about the shooting was on the news. Sure enough it was. It was news anchor Tom Phillips as he began his story:

         There was a shooting at King Park today on the south side of town. 17 year old baseball star and honor student at Jefferson high school Mark Wyers was shot twice while walking home from a friend’s house. Authorities say the shooting was most likely random, though evidence is still piling up. If you have any information about the shooting you are urged to contact authorities.

         The story was over. That was it. No idea why he was shot or by who. And why was my life spared? Why did both bullets barely miss killing me? Is there a reason God’s will is for me to live? Or was it simply by chance that I was inches left of both bullets.

         “Breaking news!” it was Tom Phillips back on camera minutes after the story about the shooting. “A photo of the shooter was taken by a stoplight camera less than a minute after the shooting. Here is an image of the shooter.” It was Scott from my math class. What the hell? “An eye witness took down the license plate of the car used for the drive by. When Scott Kitson, a local college student and shooter/driver in the car, failed to stop at a red light the camera took this picture shortly before stopping at a local motel and renting a room. Police are on their way to the motel right now to make the arrest, though we believe Kitson is still armed and dangerous.”

         I was in shock. Why the hell would Scott Kitson shoot that kid? And suddenly it came to me. “The bigger gun wins this time!” that’s what he said just before firing. He was making a reference to what I said to him earlier today while I was picking on him? He was shooting at me.

         Scott Kitson tried to kill me. He must have known he missed. That’s why he rushed to a motel and rented out a room. I left my body. As soon as I realized the truth of the circumstances it was as though I began floating, or at least my spirit did. I could still see my own body sitting on the couch in my living room and watching the news while my spirit began drifting away, as though somehow understanding that the kid was killed because of me was the key to something.

         I floated through the city, I looked at buildings and cars driving by. It was a different view than I had ever seen because I was looking straight down at everything, though I didn’t feel above anything. A kid died today because of me. Because I decided to make my friends laugh by pushing a kid completely over the edge, another kid, someone who never even got to experience life at all yet, was dead. A mother and a father were crying right now and it was because of me. They would have to bury their son and it was because of me. A community was missing an innocent kid, murdered, because of me. I felt cold and alone. Nothing would help me at this point. To me I was guilty of the murder just as much as Scott Kitson. If I could have just been standing one foot to the side I would be the one whose blood was spilled on the ground. I at least deserved it.

         I floated all through the city and finally into a motel complex. I wasn’t controlling where I was going. It was as though I was being lead. It was a feeling impossible to explain, as though some greater power was showing me the way. I floated up to room 300 and entered. I saw Scott there sitting on the bed.

         I could see him but of course he couldn’t see me. He was hyperventilating, talking to himself, mumbling rather some sentences that I couldn’t comprehend. He had the gun in his hand and the news channel was on. He must have known he was getting caught and that there was no way he was getting out of this one. I shared that feeling with him. Though he would physically never be able to get away with the murder, I would mentally never be able to. No matter what anyone might say to me I will always have in the back of my mind the thought that I could have easily prevented that kid from being murdered.

         His tears were crashing onto the floor when suddenly there was a knock at the door. “Scott this is the police. We’re not going to hurt you but you need to let us in.”

         He didn’t really answer them, it was just more muffled noises coming from his mouth while his eyes reddened and shot tears from a distance, shot with deadly accuracy to the motel floor. Again the cops began pounding and asking him to open the door. He didn’t know what to say back to them, except for that he didn’t want to let them in. I wouldn’t know what to say in his position either. Again they began talking, but this time it was a new voice. A much more gentle voice it seemed.

         “Scott this is your uncle David. Please just pray with me. God will forgive you for whatever you did, just please repent and you will be forgiven.”

         “I didn’t mean to kill that kid! I wasn’t aiming at him, it isn’t my fault he’s dead!” There was anger in his voice, but probably just anger at himself more than anyone or anything else.

         “Listen I know this hurts Scott but trust me the Lord is a very forgiving god. He will forgive you I promise you just have to repent just please pray with me.”

         “I swear the bullet wasn’t meant for him!” he began crying more, his tears striking his own body as he wept. “I’m so sorry Uncle David! I’m sorry about everything just please forgive me!”

         “Yes I forgive you Scott, but you must ask forgiveness from God. You must repent to him. I cannot cleanse you, only he can.” Scott picked up the gun he sat on the floor and put it against the side of his head.

         “Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?”

         “Scott don’t do that! This can all be worked out somehow, don’t do that!”

         “Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?”

         “Scott you need to stop! Set the gun down! We’re going to break the door down just please set the gun down!”

         “Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?” It was evident that he had hit his last straw. There was no turning back from the point he was at now. He had murdered an innocent person and he couldn’t handle it. He stopped crying but he began shaking terribly. He looked cold. There was no answer from the other side of the door this time.

         “Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?”

         Suddenly it dawned on me, I could be responsible for the death of two people. The idea destroyed me. I could hardly handle the fact that the first kid had died, but if Scott were to actually pull the trigger right now I don’t know what I would do.

         “Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?” they were trying to calm him down but I tuned everything out completely besides Scott. It was just like when everything at the park was blurry besides the bloody body on the ground. How could I live with myself if he pulled the trigger? If two people died because of me in one day I might just have to kill myself.

         “Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?” The repetition of the question sent chills down my spine and throughout my entire body. The thought terrified me. It destroyed me. It was killing me. Was he going to pull the trigger? I jumped out through the window. I didn’t want to know.