top of page

Another One Bites the Dust

By: Denishea Young

      Kneeling on the floor I raise my hands to my head as ordered. My eyes downcast afraid to look up already knowing what I will see but trying vainly to deny the evidence in my face. Braiding my fingers together behind my head I stretch my elbows back trying to hide body shaking tremors and my fear in nonchalance.

     “Look at me.”

     I don’t move.

     “Look at me I said!” screamed the voice as they kicked my stomach.

     Crumpling onto the floor and gasping for breath I take in my assailant’s shoes used and well-worn Sketcher sneakers. They look to once have been a bright and vibrant pink but have since through time and use turned into scuffed, dirty, muddy, pale imitations of what they once were. The laces are tied haphazardly in big swooping loops.

     As I lay there trying to get my breathing under control and ignore the pain a song from my childhood dances through my mind. “Ring around the roses a pocketful of posies ashes, ashes we all fall down.” The black death why am I thinking of that now? Whatever. I shake my head and try to focus, rolling over onto my hands and knees. I brace to stand only to be kicked again. This time I cry out in pain and shock as I feel something in my body break. Is it my imagination or did I hear a crack? Curled in on myself I try not to cry. I refuse to show this asshat any sign of weakness. But it’s hard, so very hard. I have never broken anything before. I have never felt pain like this. I can’t seem to get my breathe. Am I even still breathing? I have to pee. I can’t pee. God I hurt! I hurt so very bad.

     I think I must have blacked out for a bit because when I came to my assailant’s shoes are no longer in my face instead, they are kneeling in front of me. The gun in their hand held steadily and pointed at my head.

“Get up… Get up! Get the Fuck UP!” yells the assailant.

As I slowly unfurl my body from its protective ball. I hold back the scream and use the pain to fuel my anger overcoming my fear. I push again to my hands and knees. My eyes still trained on the gun as I pant.

     “On your knees!”

      No, no, no, NO! I am not going out like this. As I move to my knees with my hands raising slowly to resume their previous position, I mentally scream my pain and fury. Yet, only whimpers escape my month as with every inch that my right arm rises a sharp shooting pain rushes through my body. No, I ain’t goin’ out like this. Not like THIS!

     “On your knees!”

     I don’t think, I move. Reaching my left hand out I push the gun hand out while jerking my head to the side as the gun goes off. The sound of it so close to my ear reverberates through my head but I don’t stop. I surge to my feet in a move I had not used since I was young. I pushed off my toes using my thigh muscles coming to my full height all the while pushing the assailant’s arm to the left of me as they continued to push the trigger while pushing against my hold. But I turn with their movement keeping my body just out of range. I raise my right hand and ignoring the pain punch them in the face over and over and over again. Until they release the gun to protect their face and try to push me away. I drop their arm and bring my left hand into the action. Punching them in the gut. As they bend over, I bring my knee up smashing it into their face. Causing their body to fall backwards.

Bending down my right hand braced against my ribs I whimper and pant as I reach for the gun. Shuffling forward I point the gun into my assailant's face. Only to stare in shock as I recognize the face that looks back up at me. It.. is… me…! I don’t understand what…?! As I stare down at the assailant, they stare up at me a look of resignation upon their face. I jerk startled. Pain flares through my body, my fingers tighten before I can stop them.


     My body falls back a hole in the middle of my head. My eyes once bright lose their shine, blood and brain spread a ghastly halo on the ground.

“Oh God what did I just do. WHAT DID I JUST DO! FUCK!!!”  I look around and notice for the first time that I am in a dimly lit room. As my eyes adjust, I see there are rows upon rows of me on their knees with their hands behind their heads. Their heads bowed down as they stare at the ground. I turn back to look in front of me. My body is gone and in front of me there I am on my knees. My gun aimed for my head. I don’t want this. I want it to end!

     “Look at me.” 

© Denishea Young
bottom of page