This story is written as an entry to Hive Creative Contest | The Writer's Week created by @zord189. We were given five prompts to chose from and then concoct a story about one of them.
The prompt I chose was: You go out for dinner and you heard a gunshot.
Small town life. Nothing exciting ever happens here. Until the day it does.
We've had dinner at the local Denny's dozens of times, it's one of our few sit-down dinner places that doesn't include a drive-thru and getting your meal in a greasy sack. And the convenience of a truck stop and a gas station right out front. What's not to love, right?
Beth, our favorite waitress, sauntered over to our table to set down the brimming mango milkshake that my husband always orders.
"How's it going, Beth?" I asked her. Ever since she had served us a few weeks ago not only sporting her usual sunny smile but a black eye to go along with it, I've been worried about her. Small towns are like that. I knew her family and that she'd had a rough time growing up. She was only a few years younger than our own boys.
"Oh you know, same old same old" she replied. But I could see the tension she was carrying in her shoulders and her smile was forced. As she reached in front of me with my ice tea, I could see a fresh purple bruise around her wrist.
The window outside showed the tiny snowflakes being driven on the wind. First snow/ice storm this year. It seemed way too early for that shit. Where had the summer gone? And where had Beth's bright and bubbly personality gone? Here was a young woman carrying a burden, one that I recognized all too well from growing up with an abusive father. I knew Beth's husband, Jon, had only been back from his military tour of duty overseas for a few months. It was obvious things weren't going well for his reintroduction to civilian life.
"Beth, I know you're working, but it's pretty slow right now, can you sit with us for a minute?"
She looked at me and the tears were welling up in her eyes. "I really can't right now," she said, "but I really appreciate the thought."
She walked away and I turned back to my husband. "That girl is afraid, and I'm afraid for her."
Then two sounds happened almost simultaneously that had no business being heard in a sleepy little small town. The sound of a gunshot rang out and was followed by a massive explosion. It was obvious that at least one of the gas pumps out front had exploded. I happened to look up at just the right moment to see Beth's eyes widen in terror as she looked out the front plate glass window.
There was screaming and milling about as people tried to make sense of what was happening. Looking out the front I saw Beth's husband silhouetted by the blazing inferno with his gun trained on the front door. He appeared to be calmly waiting for his target to come through that door.
The tray Beth had been carrying dropped to the floor with a crash. Coffee cascaded out of the shattered cup in seemingly slow motion droplets. Beth screamed, "Jon! No, oh my God!"
She made as if to bolt to the front door toward the insanity. I grabbed her arm and stood in front of her. "No, Beth, you can't go out there. He's waiting on YOU."
At that moment the second, and then the third gas pump exploded. Broken glass and debris along with a scorching heat blew through the interior knocking people to the floor. I landed on top of Beth and felt blood running between my shoulder blades from what was probably a sliver of glass impaled in my back.
Though the choking black smoke filling the room we could see there was nothing left standing in front of the building.
Whatever demons Jon had brought back with him from Iraq were put to rest. Beth was left to pick up the pieces of her life and destined to blame herself for not being able to provide him the help he needed. A tragedy that she desperately wished could have been avoided.
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