The wind rushed into my face as I sprinted hurriedly. The night’s morbid blanket became apparent in the horizon and a spectrum of sunset colors gleamed. The inevitable darkness would soon permeate, decimating all the light of day. I hastened acknowledging that the crime was to be done imminently. Thankfully, the store was only half a mile away. I darted on the sidewalk outrunning each person that was jogging. The people in their markets peeked outside to investigate the reason behind the sudden rush. Who knows how much money this mob would plunder if left unleashed. My breaths grew heavy; this was my third battle of today. Fortunately, it did not seem perilous compared to the other deadly risks I took.
Sometimes I questioned myself: Why am I doing this? The two answers I always came back to were that I had been chosen and to honor my parents. The strength I had was extraordinary, and no other person on the earth’s surface had something so valuable, so beneficial. My parents would surely be proud of their son if they were alive. The ardor of inspiration these two reasons gave me, however, were not enough. In order to do this, I had to consider everyone a distraction, leaving no real friend I could confide in.
My heart gained weight suddenly, but I immediately rid myself of these feelings, these distractions. The store’s image grew nearer each second and the police’s sirens vibrated in my ear drum. The sound penetrated my mind, and its sound was familiarized, leaking a memory out of my subconscious. My brain flashbacked twelve years ago, the time when despondency first entered my life. The sirens were the ones that carried the vile news of my parents murder. The last words they told me before my brother and I left for school were “make us proud.” Rage overwhelmed my senses, and energy boiled in the depths of me. My methodical plan to halt these kinds of thefts was to break into the store’s back glass and find refuge by a debris. My extraordinary strength intimidated most of the criminals; however, other criminals who appeared to be dauntless and planned an escape were often paralyzed by a gunshot. Most of the time, the police and even the security would come into play afterwards, after I have accomplished my mission. They usually found the culprit in an inept state. Perplexed, they incarcerated the criminals and gained the praise. That didn’t bother me, though, being adulated had never been my goal.
A spark illuminated my eyes declaring that my power had entered battle mode. Dodging the memories that left a bruise of distraction, I free ran up the stairway and lept directly towards the window. The window crashed as though a brick penetrated its area. I rolled and immediately sought a haven. I wore my mask. Surprisingly, the field was vacant, revealing no sense of life. I immediately got an ominous sense scenting that something was not right. Struggling to think clearly and fearing a sudden ambush, I cautiously took meticulous glances at every speck of the aisles. Two money bags were seated on a table. I held my gun in one hand as I took short steps towards the table placing the other hand on the moneybag. Behind the table lay a women hinting no sense of life. Her neck seemed twisted, but no blood exited her body. A sense of familiarity arose again. I stared in shock. The police crashed in.
I gasped, not because of the despicability that I had seen, but because I realized that it was a trap.
“Your hands in the air,” two armed police officers demanded ruthlessly.
“Raise your hands in the air where we can see them or we will shoot,” he commanded again.
Echos of my apprehension invaded my mind. Was this just a nightmare? I found no comfort in this thought because I never awakened.
“You have the right to remain silent,” a policeman insinuated. My disturbed memories soon hid and reality became frightening. Surely, my fight would not end with my ironic incarceration, but one thing I knew was that that event would change my entire life.