January 1, 2011
-- by Dave Johnson
This is what happens at a newspaper during the holiday shift, when the newsroom staff has been cut back to part-time, low-pay novelists and the editors are all on break.
Then he felt the blood, running warmly down the sides of his head. He began to think of his husband, his dogs, his cats.
"At first I knew that I was dying, then when I didn't die right away, I thought it's gonna be slower," Vlad said. "But somebody was watching over me."
Under his knit hat, on Friday he tenderly showed the two bloody holes -- one where the bullet entered his scalp and another where it burst out.
That night, Joseph was running for the front door with his friend to escape when he heard the pop. He knew then that the intruders had either shot his husband or Maya or Vito, their dogs. Joseph tried to keep calm. He had to think.
One of the men caught Joseph and his friend, grabbed Joseph by the shirt and punched him in the head.
They dragged Vlad into the same room. Vlad asked Joseph if he was bleeding. Joseph lied, telling him it wasn't that bad. Blood was gushing from his head, dripping off his chin. Vlad said his whole left side was going numb.
It all happened on a dark and stormy night.
Posted by Dave Johnson at January 1, 2011 9:04 AM
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