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[Ash]: 102.Contests.FamousFirstLinesApril

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2008-04-13 13:17:39
It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a shot rang out! That shot was followed by another and another. I couldn’t believe it, I heard the hail of gun fire from the east side of town. It was time; Al Capone was making his move on Chicago. The buzzing of the semi-automatics was stunning, like fireworks on a crystal clear night. I was a reporter, I had to get where the action was.

It was my gut instinct to get as close as possible to get my scoop. I held my hat tightly and ducked behind an alley wall moving closer to the blaze of bullets. I saw it then, coppers, dozens of them falling down like waves crashing against the high cliffs. The police were making head way, some of the smarter pigs hid behind their cars and aimed, they were getting just as many guys.

What a scoop this was. What a scoop indeed. I pulled my pad of paper out and began jotting this historic moment down. Then something happened, so unexpected. A cop, wounded in the chest, walked over to me. “1242 West Washington street. My name’s John Hutchings.” He fell down to his knees. “Tell my daughter I won’t be home for her birthday tomorrow.” He collapsed spilling some blood on to my notes. If was gruesome, it hit home then that I was witnessing a massacre and all I cared about was my career.

I wrote the address down, ‘1242 W Washington, Hutchings’. I crawled back, carefully checking my shoulders; I had to get out of there and into a safe place. I exited the alley and everything went silent, was it over? I wasn’t going to check.

Washington, 47 blocks away, maybe there’s a cab running this side right now. I started walking and there was a car, black as night with a shine oh so familiar, I got out into the street and stopped the beauty behind the wheel. “Johnny! What are you doing?”

“Sorry, Sarah, I need a ride to Washington,” I said getting in the passenger side and pulling her thin frame back into the car. “We have to get out of here, I’m not sure who won.”

“Won what, Johnny?” She asked, closing her door and hitting the gas. “Why are you sweating like that.”

“Capone’s gang and the cops just had their final battle in the war. There were cops just falling like dominos, blue dominos.” I muttered. She looked at me and picked up the gas a little.

“Oh, I knew this was coming, do you think we should leave town?”

“No, just get to Washington.” The rest of the car ride was silent like the grave. I knew that she was freaking out inside, Sarah was young and had a life ahead of here if she could ever stop hanging around scum like me. It was her soft stop I suppose.

I gave her the address and within seconds of hitting Washington I was stepping out of her car in front a small white house with a couple toys on the small porch. When the door closed I could hear my very heartbeat. How was I supposed to tell this kid her dad died and the last thing he though about was her. My footsteps were quiet all there is or can comprehend is the beating of my heart, faster, faster until I think I would scream. I knocked at the door. It opened to a little girl with brown hair, matted down; she had a little chocolate on her face with a small pink doll in a white night gown. My heart stopped.

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