I drop the phone still connected to my partner and push it under some clothes. He hears me screaming and screaming over the phone, he hears crashing and men shouting, he hears me moaning and shuffling. The phone goes dead. I have thirty seconds before they break down the door with what sounds like a sledge hammer. I stand there in the dark looking from side to side looking for something to stop this. I look at the children, the burglar bars on the windows, the locked bedroom door. They have almost broken through the door. I turn around and around. I remember a hunting knife, look frantically on the table for it, slide onto the floor by the cupboard and struggle to undo the scabbard. It shines in the moon light as I draw it out, I stand up, face the bedroom door, look at the weapon, assess how many there are. I remember to turn the knife sharp blade up because I heard once that it does more damage that way. My mind is racing. I look at the knife and it dawns on me that there are more than three attackers and they will gut me or the kids if I fight and loose the weapon. I throw the knife behind the bathroom door under a towel then run and jump onto the bed covering the children. In a split second half a dozen men burst through a black hole in the door and swarm around us. I am screaming, “I have children! Children! Please don’t hurt them, please don’t hurt my children! ’’.
Posted on: Tue, 16 Jul 2013 14:24:06 +0000
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