Survival

He had always known he was impulsive spontaneity had always been his point forte,
as he saw it - but never in a million years could he have imagined himself doing what he did.
He didnt know why he had hit that man who was clearly dangerous and unstable, a fearful
combination, he couldnt expand on what had made him do it, even though he could feel
that irresistible urge to do something, anything to take the situation under control it still
blazed in his heart like a pyre of fiery compulsion. So he had hit him hard, not registering the
sickening crunch as his fist had collided with the mans jaw, the startled holler of the
attacked or the thud of the gun that had dropped to the floor he refused to turn his mind
around to the consequences of his actions. He just did it. And it worked. The man fell, with
an almighty crash, and the gun skidded away along with the lever, to be quickly retrieved by
a young woman. It was over.

Matt stood up straight, the man who had been knocked out cold by his well-placed
blow lying at his feet, and took in his surroundings for the first time, his mind still reeling
with shock at his own boldness. The people around him were clearly stunned, still processing
what had just happened in front of them. Matt couldnt blame them he was certain they
werent feeling half of the apprehension, horror and mingled relief that were still clouding his
senses. Did it all just happen? Had the nightmare ended so abruptly? Were they actually
free?

...

When he had entered the bank about two hours ago, blissfully unaware of the danger
he was putting himself into, he had thought he would be out and on his way home in about
ten minutes. He was to later marvel at how incredibly wrong he had been. Just as he had
reached the line did the man step inside the bank, looking as ordinary as any other person
and brandished a gun in front of all the people inside the establishment. As he had moved
closer, they had gotten a clear view of the inside of his jacket, carrying black and red straps,
and an assortment of wire tangled together, as well as the lever he had discreetly placed on
his hand. He was a walking bomb.

Nobody had had the courage to scream, but they had watched in horror as the man
ranted about how the bank had absorbed his lifes savings, leaving him homeless. Leaving
him without any strings. Leaving him desperate. And I will kill you all, right in front of the
effing world! Let them all come! Madness had blazed in his eyes, but there was also a glint
of fear, fear of being cornered. And Matt knew there was nobody more dangerous and
volatile than a frightened man, cornered to an end. And so he had watched, numb with fear,
as the man disabled the alarm systems, and locked all the doors. There was no escape.

The security guards with their meagre weapons of wooden rifles and revolvers could
do nothing but pound on the bullet-proof, plexi-glass doors from the outside, and then call
the police, just like the man had wanted. But the local cops could not touch the man from
the outside, not when there were so many lives at stake, huddled together near their target.
But the man was not open to any negotiation. He had wanted an audience, and he had
gotten it. Just as the security forces had started to sneak closer to the building, the man had
aimed his gun at the young woman trembling next to him, and Matt had known he had to do
something, even if it was the unthinkable. So he had launched himself at the man, who had
fortunately, after about two hours, just begun to let his guard down. The man had crashed to
the floor, and Matt had fallen down to his knees. They were saved.
 As the police broke the doors down and untangled the screaming man from the
bomb, he indistinctly heard him hollering something about doing it for his own survival.
Even in his concussed state, the irony was not gone to Matt, and as he looked around to the
relieved faces emanating pain and joy, he felt himself agreeing to the overused statement
It is good to be alive.

People around him laughed and cried and broke down tied to one string by the
weaves of the trauma; and as a group of people embraced themselves, tears streaming
down their faces, Matt joined in, celebrating the aspect of being alive. Celebrating the relief.
Celebrating the joy.

Celebrating sweet survival.