Is that a gun? IT is, how? no Why? no What the?

A million questions fly by at once.

You know in action movies the sound when the world transfers to slow motion. All noises sound distant and muffled, if not drown out by a loud heartbeat. It was like that.

“Shut the fuck up!” He demanded.

He knocked over Tyler and pushed the barrel firmly to his forehead. The gunman was a tall and lanky with a mulatto complexion, wearing a baggy t-shirt and jeans with a green bandana and large brimmed baseball cap shielding his face from identification. He pulled the gun away and started aiming it around the room in an arc trying to cover all the people in room. His accomplice was much bigger, and wearing a Celtics jersey proceeded to push open the door to my room and make his way in.

“Give us the fucking shit” The gunman yelled.

Maybe the situation hadn't dawned on us or maybe we were just high, but no one did a thing we all just looked at them from our different vantages points. So he repeated.

“Give us your shit, NOW,” waving the gun, “Who wants to be shot first huh?” he asked.

Again no one did anything; everyone just stared at the gun like a deer in the headlights waiting to become road kill.

From my angle I could watch the gun being waved and peak into my room. The accomplice was tearing apart my room, or what little I had, ransacking my empty dresser one level after the other. Empty, how ironic. In desperation and anger he knocked my lamp off the dresser and picked up a WWII marine issue Ka Bar knife I had sitting at the top of a box and made his way back to the living room.

Walking in a direct line from my room the accomplice came straight at me with the knife, I hesitated. He shoved me up against the wall and with his elbow and forearm resting firmly on my chest he held the knife to my throat. An instant later he flipped me around and pulled me against his chest pulling the knife up against my neck. I was now hostage.