"Dispatch all stations to 1912 South Orange Avenue."
Eight words. Eight minutes. Eight policemen. All the broad shoulders and bright eyes consist of. Hope. There's nothing left to say but stay. Stay in bed. Just five more minutes turns into eight. Eight dollars left on the table and a note from the wife. "Be safe." Don't take risks. Stay in line. Stay. Stay in bed. Don't do the nightshifts. Don't bite off more than you can chew. Don't.
Eight. Eight minutes past midnight. Headlights illuminating structures and streets and signs. Stay. Stay in the car. Don't get out. Don't bite off more than you can chew. Stay. Stay in bed. Stay safe. Stay in line. Stay.
Minutes turn to hours. No calls. No action. No nothing. The shift drags on. Eyelids start to droop. Vision begins to blur. No calls. No action. No nothing.
And then eight words. Nothing more. No warning. No caution. No information. Just the address. Just eight short words. Just.
Just in time. Just in time to see. Just in time to see enough. Enough to haunt you for a lifetime. Enough to wrench you into reality. Enough to pull you out of a nightmare in a cold sweat. Maybe a pinch will wake him. Just to make sure. Just. But stay. Stay in bed. Stay in line. Stay safe. Stay.
Don't stay to hear the screams. The tears turn to waterfalls. Don't stay long enough. Don't stay just to wait and see. Just. Just enough to haunt you for a lifetime. Just enough to keep you up at night. But don't stay. Don't stay to watch them run. The floodgates open. The water gushes out. And they run. They don't know where. They don't know why. Just run.
And he wants to run. Run away from this. Run from the inevitable. Hands on cold metal. Red and blue lights. Sirens in the distance. Barricaded behind car doors. The broad shoulders soften. Soft. Not so tough. Not tough enough. Not tough enough to stop the tears from flowing. Human. Still human.
Bulletproof. That's what he is. For his wife. His children. Strong. Stoic. But soft. The shouts tear above the sirens. Human screams. Human cries. Human life. Human. Earsplitting screams. Heart wrenching cries. Bloodstained bodies. Human.
Time stands still. But the minutes tick on. Backup. Cars halt. More feet. More metal. More hearts. More. Acrid and sour. The air is heavy. It feels sticky in his lungs. Nothing prepared him for this. The world keeps turning. But time stands still.
This is his job. This is what he's trained to do. But this. This isn't what he signed up for. He knows what lies ahead. Head's telling him to run. From this. Just run. Run from the inevitable. But this once. He stays. Stay in bed. Stay in the car. Stay safe. Stay.
No warning. Just movement. Patter of feet on pavement. Crackle of gunfire. The pops drown out the screeching. Block out the thoughts. Shouts. The tears still streaming. Don't. Don't stay long enough to hear the phones ring. Trying to reach the bodies that scatter the dance floor. Don't stay long enough to see the bloodied faces. Gaping holes through cheekbones and eye sockets and chests. Don't stay long enough. Don't.
Don't break down. Don't bite off more than you can chew. Don't take risks. Don't whimper and whine and weep. Don't take the night shifts. Don't stay. Don't cry. Don't. Strong. Not soft. Stoic. Not soft. No feelings. Bulletproof.
But he's on his knees. Broad shoulders shaking. Bright eyes filled with tears. Tough. No weakness. No softness. No feelings. Strong. But human. Still human. Forever human. Always human.
But he's still standing. Staggering. But standing. Holding onto the wall like a lifeline. It shouldn't hurt like this. Stay. But don't stay. Don't stay to see. Don't stay to see the cars pull up. The screaming mothers. The wailing fathers. The friends. Wide eyed and wheezing. Don't stay long enough. Don't stay to see. Don't.
Eight policemen. Eight minutes. Eight words.
"Eight sessions with a psychologist won't fix this."
