A little more than 4 years since Pocket passed away. I thought I’d recount this little story from 2003.
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and I was napping comfortably on the couch at home. I was dreaming; a friend and I were walking along a quiet street having some conversation. Suddenly, loud automatic gunfire rang out. It sounded like it was from a GPMG, or a M60. Slow lazy automatic gunfire, not like from an M-16, and fired in short bursts. A couple of rounds hit me. I could feel the impacts on my chest as I fell to the ground and onto my back.
Surprisingly I had survived. I turned my head to find my friend was hit too. He was on the ground, motionless. I checked my chest, I could see the holes in my shirt, but no blood. My chest was heavy. I couldn’t remember putting on a vest. Why would I be wearing a vest? We were just out for a walk!
I got up to a seating position, and tried to see where the shots were coming from. As far as I could tell, it was from a dark alleyway in the distance. More gunfire rang out, and I was hit again. As I fell back to the ground, I started awake to find little Pocket walking around on my chest, trying to find a comfy place to lie down.
She got a smack on the rump for her efforts and scampered off to find someone less grumpy to hang out with.
As I spent the next 3 minutes on the couch sweeping the cobwebs from my groggy mind and slowly realising what had happened, I laughed to myself and called her back for a great big hug.
Some pictures I’d forgotten I had….