He squeezed his eyes tightly, finally releasing the wall of tears that he refused to display to his family; knowing that as soon as he heard a “Pow!” that his obligations, fears, worries, and life would be over. He was scared, sad, and alone but felt that he had no choice. So he braced himself, grabbed the steering wheel with one hand, and decided he had better do it quickly. So, with a jerk-Pow! The bullet exited the back of his head, and was later found lodged in a tree across the street.
The day seemed to be in slow motion after that. Ambulances, fire trucks, police choppers; everyone was there, walking in and out of the house asking questions, taping off the driveway, it was chaos. There was dad, his lifeless body still sat with his hand clutched to the steering wheel. His head was down, but his eyes were slightly opened, with a look of peace; and strangely, humbleness, Nick would remember. It was the first time his father was not frowning. Nick stared through the window of the El Camino watching his father’s slumped body; watching the blood and brain matter slide down the windows until it dried in place. In all of the chaos, no one seemed to notice Nick standing there. His father sat there for hours before he was finally taken away in an ambulance with no lights or sirens, it just slowly drove him away.
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