04-26-2010

Start Fiction:

Wilbur Jones had never shot a man before, but his first day on duty was headed that way quickly. A call from the State Bank on Main Street had come in and Wilbur Jones was the first deputy on the scene.

A thin rail of an adult boy, Wilbur Jones looked more like he was wearing a Halloween costume than a uniform; nothing fit right from his cap to his shoes. Maybe the Sheriff thought he'd grow in to them someday, but not any day too soon.

Now, being so new, Wilbur Jones was a beat cop; an adult boy with a gun and a walkie-talkie. And for one reason or another, he was on his own on his first shift. Who knew there would be any excitement this big in his first year, let alone his first day.

Upon getting the call, Wilbur responded on his walkie-talkie, his mouth dry and voice strained. He had to repeat himself a few times before dispatch understood what he was saying. The Sheriff, who was listening, tried to be confident in Wilbur, but he sure was making it hard to do.

Wilbur positioned himself behind a bright red Buick across the street from the bank. He fumbled and fought with the latch on his holster, trying to get his gun ready for the bank robbers as they left the building. Wilbur looked up and down the street waiting for more back up, but a few minutes seemed to be taking an awfully long time.

Sweat ran into eyes as he finally removed his gun from the holster, stinging. Wilbur tried to ear the pounding from his ears, as though they were merely plugged. No such luck, but Wilbur was stubborn that way.

End Fiction.

Kind of lost it after I fell asleep!