Excerpt from ???? by Mark A. Trujillo

I do not know where I am going with this fictional piece. I had an idea, the words flowed freely, and now it exists. It may become part of a larger effort like a novel or short story or it may stay here forever, languishing in the virtual cloud!  

Police Officer Jared Garcia sat parked on the side of Primrose Road waiting for commuters rushing to work to speed past him. Numerous complaints about speeding drivers down Calle Nortena had been called in and to satisfy the residents, the Albuquerque Police Department ordered him to hand out tickets liberally this Tuesday morning.

He went to sip his coffee when a black Mustang raced by him going 55 mph on the 30 mph street.

He flipped his lights on but was interrupted by a call on his radio.

“Car number 1776 there are reports of screaming and a possible domestic incident near you at 8500 Cedar Creek Drive. Please check it out.”

“Well, this should be more interesting than a speeding ticket” Officer Garcia said to himself.

“10-4!” he replied.

Keeping his lights on, he proceeded east on Calle Nortena and made a left on Bursera Drive. Things looked quiet as usual. Most people were probably on the road to their jobs by now, fighting traffic, and cursing the rat race.

He decided to take the second right onto Cumberland Road since the ruckus was reported to be further up the road on Cedar Creek. He wanted to get a view of the street as he approached. Half way down the road he jumped in his seat, closed his eyes, and turned the steering wheel frantically as he was sprayed with little cubes of glass from his shattering windshield. His car swerved into a curb and and came to a skidding halt in front of a house where he could hear the shower of bullets hitting the side and rear of his patrol car.

Dazed and confused, he reached for the radio and asked for backup, “I need backup now! I’m taking fire!”

Officer Garcia’s car had spun in the street, the front end of the vehicle facing the opposite direction from its original orientation. The driver side was now parallel with the sidewalk. He could still hear bullets peppering the side of the car and realized that he was a fish in a barrel. Getting out of the vehicle was an absolute necessity.

As he peeked over the passenger seat a bullet ripped through the back windshield and Officer Garcia let out a yelp as the bullet grazed the right side of his head spewing blood down his cheek and spraying the driver’s seat.

He ducked, unclipped his side arm, and stayed low. The shooter or shooters must have had to reload because there was a second of silence. He reached for the door handle, pushed the door open and rolled out of the car. As he did so, he could hear the sound of more sirens approaching. On the radio he heard, “Car 1776 are you there? Please respond!” as another round of shots were fired in his direction. He quickly bear crawled to the front of the car as bullets kicked up concrete from the sidewalk. Once behind the car he felt safer and tried to look over the hood and through what was left of the patrol car’s windows to find the location of the shooters.

“This isn’t a domestic violence incident!” he thought to himself.

A bullet smashed the radio and another patrol car turned the corner. As it did, it was met with same amount of fury. Officer Garcia looked in horror as the other patrol car spun out in front of him and came to a stop. The officers inside quickly came out of the car. The passenger was quickly gunned down and the driver climbed out and quickly crouched down to avoid being killed.

Officer Garcia assumed the gunfire was coming from the north of the street and saw two shooters approaching, crouched down, and ready to resume their attack. He stood quickly and fired off two rounds from his Glock 22. The shooters stopped their advance and concentrated their fire on Officer Garcia. As they did, the other officer got off a few more shots but was quickly neutralized by a bullet that came from a different direction, snapping his head back as the other men returned fire. The officer took another round of bullets through his chest as he fell to the ground.

“Shit! A sniper!” Officer Garcia thought. He desperately needed more firepower and he needed it now!

He could hear more sirens approaching. He stood up again and fired four rounds at the men. One ducked as the terrorists were peppered by black asphalt from the street from Officer Garcia’s bullets.

A burning, searing pain shot through Officer Garcia’s arm and he went down in a heap as he dropped the Glock onto the street. Officer Garcia looked at his right arm. There was a gaping hole in his uniform sleeve and bright red blood streamed out, drenching his right arm.

“Fuck!” he screamed.

He quickly searched for his sidearm and found it to his right. He strained to reach across his body with his left arm to retrieve the Glock. As he went to pick it up, he saw a black boot next to the gun. He looked up into the eyes of a masked man and more disturbingly, into the dark barrel of an AR-15 rifle.

The Little Ones by Mark A. Trujillo

The garage door creaks and groans when it opens as the early morning chill of a new winter day begins. I patiently stare out of the garage as the door rises gradually, slowly exposing the sunlight in ever expanding slivers of light. The little ones, eager with anticipation, ignore patience, and bounce up and down and tug at their leashes with the hope that their journey will soon begin. I wait a while longer and walk toward the door as the little ones pull with an excessive ferocity and excitement. Who am I to question that excitement? Everything is relative - is it not?

The disappointment is palpable as I stop our advance down the driveway to close the garage door. The stares from the little ones are piercing and their whines and barks tear at the heartstrings. They say the little ones have no concept of time. I guess “they” never took their little ones for a walk. I chuckle at the absurdity of the little ones and the minute I beckon, “Let’s go?” the little ones, tangled in their leashes, suddenly become calm. The intertwined leashes become taut as the little ones separate from their impromptu wrestling match and begin walking.

The blue canopy overhead, the occasional cool breeze, and the tranquil, desolate street invite us to continue without worry for an eternity. During our little journeys, I feel as though the world perceived by the little ones and my world are synced in a rejection of the confines of home to the wide open possibilities of the outside world. They seek relief from being imprisoned within our home and the occasional backyard experience, seek relief from the same smells and triggers, and they seek the possibility of finally coming face-to-face with that pesky dog that they can hear barking in some unknown yard in the distance.

Without their daily journey, the little ones’ madness is palpable, culminating in mischievous deeds, chewed objects, unrelenting digging to nowhere, unnecessary barking, and ceaseless pacing in search of a little purpose that is out of their grasp. On our little journeys, all their troubles and madness seem to disappear and their purpose is abundantly clear-keep moving, keep observing, and keep discovering.

Perhaps humanity can learn from the little ones’ experiences on their little journeys. Purpose is what keeps humanity going, keeps humanity sane. The moment we stop moving, stop observing, and stop discovering is the moment that humanity ceases to progress. In a world where automation, the constant bombardment of information, and the ceaseless temptations of technology distract humanity with the frivolous, it can be difficult to appreciate the world external to our technological devices that keep us confined in our own small electronic yards.

Life’s purpose is not as difficult to find as humanity seems to think. A willingness to ignore all that distracts in favor of a little journey may be all that is needed.