Sunlight came in through the blinds. Shining on a clear bottle of canola oil, jug of soy sauce, a pack of smokes. Shadows were cast on the counters. Lines of yellow and black, dark and light.
She moved across the kitchen to the pot of coffee by the sink. Old. It’d been there for three days. Time to make a fresh cup. She thought about it. Let the water run cold down the drain as she stared out the window. Looking at the house next door. The blue house. Windows boarded up, no trespassing sign, a Ford upon concrete blocks in the front yard. No one went in. And no one came out.
The water was turned off. She had forgotten what she turned it on for. Off in the distance there was the sounds of sirens drawing near. Getting closer and closer. There were gunshots. People, a man and a woman ran from the cellar next door. No one chased em. They just ran into the morning sun. More gunshots were fired. And more people, this time a family of three came running out. Again, no one followed em.
Cop cars parked outside on the street, some up in the yard. A megaphone was used. The plainclothes policeman asked if he were alone? Anymore hostages? Was he by himself?
A voice responded, I’m always by myself. And one last shot was fired.