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Published by Alora Gavin

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Published by: Alora Gavin on Jun 10, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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The Trigger 
“Somebody help me!”
The woman‟s scream came from nowhere. I spun around instantly, searching for the
sounds origin, but seeing nothing more than a few stray men and woman heading from thesupermarket to their cars. As far as I could see, everyone was calm.
“Hey, Raine, what‟s wrong?” My best friend, Kara, turned to me, laying her hand on my
shoulder in concern.
“Did you hear that?” My voice was hushed as I continued to scan the hustle and bustle.“Someone‟s screaming,”
 Kara followed m
y eyes and scanned alongside me. “I don‟t hear 
“Please, help, somebody!”
 Without hesitation, I dropped the bunch of plastic bags gripped in my hands and sprintedtoward the back side of the store. Other shoppers barked at me as I whizzed by and Kara shoutedfor me to come back, but I focused beyond them on an unseen struggle no one but me was awareof.I ran across the parking lot as fast as my legs would move me, following the cries of awoman scared for her life. The closer I got, the more I could hear.
Little details I shouldn‟t have
picked up on made themselves apparent; the click of heels on concrete, tiny pants grunts andyelps. It was like listening to an action scene with headphones.
I turned sharply around the building, bolting towards a wire fence that chopped up anddistorted the two people struggling beyond it. In a last minute decision, I yanked up the hood on
my jacket to hide my face and jumped the obstacle with a dexterity I didn‟t think I was capable
of. It was then that the reality of what I was doing set in.
I‟m a freaking moron.
 Now the high-pitched scream had a face. A round, but still slender face with high cheek bones and bright blue eyes. The moment I landed her head snapped to me, followed instantlywith a long stream of nonsensical babble about not moving.I kept my head low, allowing the beak of my hood to obscure a good chunk of my vision,
 but it wasn‟t enough to hide the six foot five brick of a man cloaked in black. In his steady hand
he held a curved hunk of metal. My brain registered the weapon in the exact moment it wasturned toward my chest.For the first time in my short seventeen years, I had a gun pointed at me, fully loaded andready to fire.
I repeat, I‟m a freaking moron.
“Let me see your hands, Hero.” The man with a sp
oke with a heavy Bostonian accent.
“Put them up! I will kill you.”
 Keeping my head low, I slowly moved my hands from my side and up to wear he could
see them. It was all I could do. That hyperactive thought process and super hearing I‟d
experienced moments before had left me for dead.
“Good, now let me see your face, Sweetheart. Take that stupid jacket off.” He dropped
the gun to a lower angle that, if shot at, would hit the concrete ground, not me.

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Subbie Outlier added this note
your stories are amazing the only thing is there is no end... you are a great writer your work shows it but you insult the reader by not finishing it and published without a warning about what will it happen next. Please finish this story and little red. I bet I am not the only one wishing to see what happens next.
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