Personal Narrative Essay: Unconscious Gunslingerer

Rolland Caulkins
Ms. Gist
English 12
May 7, 2018
Unconscious Gunslinger
In the winter of 2055, I lost my job. For years I had lived in a large, three room apartment on level 18B of a mostly vacant underground housing complex. Of course, the complex was not intended to be vacant, I’m sure that at one point it was intended to provide housing in the center of a bustling commercial city. Unfortunately, when business left the area, the housing couldn’t follow, leaving behind thousands of empty rooms, run down and dirt cheap. At the time I was somewhat of a hermit. I collected countless tapes, books and CDs. Shelves full of media lined my walls, and I did nothing for days on end but consume products of a bygone era. These times were nice, and I

I got a call to pick up a package in a courtyard behind an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. I took the stairs up all 18 levels of my housing complex, like normal. Just because I’m a hermit doesn’t mean I can’t stay in shape, which, like my precaution is another habit I picked up from an older job. I took the subway from the station near where I lived, and strolled over to the pick-up location from the nearest stop. All of this was normal. Also customarily, I was carrying an old revolver. The thing was practically an antique, but it was all I needed and you can’t fault me for being cheap. High crime in the city was found in the low income, but high population areas of the city. The location I was in may have been low income, but the people who were once here were already long gone. I arrived at the pick-up location, seeing a stern looking, well dressed man standing in front of a car holding a metallic silver briefcase. Inside the car was another man of similar appearance. I was within ten paces of them when I knew there was

That alone raised some red flags. The eyes of the man in front of the car grew wide, almost comically so. Things were not going according to plan. The car the man was in front of revved to life and the man rushed to the passenger door. The sound of the approaching engine was very, very close. The panicking man had opened the passenger door as the van rounded the corner. The van slammed into the rear corner of the car before the well dressed (and stern looking) driver could evade. The man entering the car was sent flying when the momentum of the van traveled through the car straight to him. Before the man hit the ground, three armed men wearing masks exited the van. As all of this was taking place, I was frozen. Something strange was happening to me. It was as if every single cell in my body was screaming at me to move, yet I still remained stuck in place. My heart beat rapidly, my breath quickened and everything around me slowed to a crawl. I drew my pistol. The last thing I remember was clearing leather and raising my