Broken Desperados

It was a normal day at the station when it happened. We were all lounging around, bored as heck, trying to find something to do. When suddenly a call came from some frantic clerk with an uneducated accent.

"Some boy came in waving around a gun and cleaned the whole place right up! Low- life hood stealin' my money! He ran off toward the east side."

One of the guys, Tom I think was his name scribbled down the information. He shouted it out to us and we all bolted out the door and got into our cruisers. It was like a scene right out of the movies.

Excitement pumped through my veins as I raced through the streets. The sirens blared loudly breaking though my senses. I could see a boy ahead of me, running fast, but not fast enough. I grinned, ready to put this sucker in jail. The other cruisers behind me swerved as he crisscrossed through the streets.

As he neared a run-down lot I stopped the car and jumped out getting the gun from my holster. Others behind me were doing the same.

In the process of raising the gun I hesitated. I looked at the boy who had now stopped. I could see a gun resting at his side and his hands were trembling fiercely. He looked like a cornered animal who knew he was about to die. I could tell he wasn't any older than my son.

Out of all this his eyes were what really struck me. They were open in a wild, unflinching gaze. But they were dead. They were dead.

I knew that if I shot him at this very moment I would be doing the wrong thing. I couldn't end his life this way. Not when he was young, and violent, and desperate. I couldn't end his life.

"God damn this world," I whispered.

I raised the gun and fired.