I looked down at my watch. 11:54pm. The brick streets of New Orleans were almost deserted at this time of night. My flight to Argentina left at 6:00am the following morning, so I decided to get back home and begin to pack. I always leave packing until the very last minute whenever I go on vacation.  I thought I’d stop by the coffee shop down the street because I knew that I’d need caffeine to keep me awake so that I could finish packing. When I arrived at the coffee shop I noticed that the sign said, “closed”. I found that odd because the shop never closed before midnight. That’s when I heard the yelling. It was followed by a man’s voice screaming “OPEN THE GODDMAN SAFE!” I sprinted to the back of the building and crept in through the back door. I hid in the storage room and peeked out to see what was going on. Two men dressed in black from head to toe were each pointing a gun at a teenage girl behind the counter. I was witnessing an armed robbery.
The girl’s tears were racing down her cheeks as she tried explaining to the men that she didn’t have the code to open the cashier. That’s when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around, afraid that I might find another man dressed in black pointing a gun at me. I was wrong. It was another customer whose curiosity also led her through the back door. She was a young woman in her early twenties. She had hair the color of the sky as it’s being burned by the setting sun. Her almond colored eyes looked perfect resting on her caramel skin. She was wearing some feather earrings that made it seem as though she hunted a peacock for them. She had on clothes that you wouldn’t normally find around here. Orange pants with navy blue patches, a sleeveless shirt that looked more like a pillowcase with the appropriate holes cut out for her neck and arms, and beige shoes that looked as though they were made out of paper. In all honesty, she was breathtaking.
As I was admiring her originality, I felt a cold metal touch the back of my neck. There are no words that can fully describe what it feels like to be held at gunpoint. The two robbers pushed the young woman and I behind the counter with the teenage girl. Being the only mail hostage, I felt that I was up to me if we were going to get out of this situation alive. However, it was highly difficult to think of a solution where there were 2 pistols only inches from the bridge of my nose. The switchblade sitting in my backpack crossed my mind. It was our only chance. I told the robbers that I had $600 in cash in my bag. Just as I predicted they ordered me to slowly take the money out. I reached into my bag but I didn’t grab any green paper, instead I gripped the cold, hard handle of my knife. In the blink of an eye I pulled it out and slashed the forearm of the closest robber, which caused him to drop his gun. I quickly reached for his gun and before the other man dressed in black had a chance to process what had just occurred, I shot him in the waist. The young woman then picked up the second robber’s gun and pointed it at him.
Just as I was starting to calm down, a gunshot made me jump. It wasn’t me who pulled the trigger. I turned to my left to see if it was the woman who pulled the trigger, it wasn’t her either. I looked behind me and saw the teenage girl on the floor with a pool of blood around her head. There was a third man dressed in black who was hiding in the very same storage room that I had been in earlier. Then came the second gunshot. The woman who had taken my breath away dropped to the floor. Blood was gushing out of  her stomach. The man in black then pointed the gun at me. Starting into the barrel of the pistol, I told myself that I was ready to go. I had lived a good life. Just as I noticed the man’s finger start to pull the trigger back, I heard a voice in the back of my head. It was saying, “Attention passengers, we will be arriving at Buenos Aires Airport in about 20 minutes”. It was the pilot letting us know that we were about to land in Argentina. I put my pencil down and started to pack up my things. I often lost track of time while writing short stories. I get so into my stories that I feel as though I’m actually there. I turned to my right and sitting right beside me are two very familiar faces. They are the 2 girls from my story. I decided that when we landed in Argentina I would talk to the young woman with the orange pants and peacock earrings. Who knows? Maybe we can get coffee in Argentina.