Footsteps wake me, I am bathed in sweat. They are coming from the hall. There is heavy breathing. My mind rattles: “Can I make it to the kitchen knife set?”, “how about the baseball bat, I always trip over?” Where is John? Working late again at the office. Footsteps, even louder now. I sneak my way to the kitchen, quietly, hushed in the dark. Where is the protector of my house? Why does John leave his gun in the den? I got my knife. I will aim to the heart or maybe the stomach. I rise my arm, aim for his chest and there is John in front of me, shooting the intruder. Blood flows, it’s mine.
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