Free First Person by Eddie McGarrity

driveway.
    On
leaving our street, I turn left onto Main Street. People are going about their
morning business. A yellow car passes, travelling in the opposite direction.
Checking the traffic behind me, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and I
adjust my glasses. Sunlight pours through the window and warms my arms. I wave
as I recognise a neighbour pushing a stroller down the sidewalk; her child
shakes a rattle in the air. Another neighbour parks his green car outside the
drugstore and ambles inside.
    The
only light on Main Street is suspended over the intersection. It is at red.
Slowing my blue station wagon to a halt, I wait behind a black SUV; its
darkened windows concealing the occupants. A high-pitched squeal behind me,
then to the left of me, and now in front of me, as a red sports car appears
from nowhere, rounds me, and then smacks into the black SUV in front. The
driver of the red car jumps out of his door and is firing a pistol, side-on with
the handle pointing off to the right.
    I
am alarmed and don’t know what to do. My jaw lies open and my eyes must be
popping out of my head. Gunfire explodes around me. The driver of the black SUV
gets out. He is enormous, barely fitting into his black suit. He is firing a
machine gun. Despite his size, the gun is still huge and its bullets punch
great holes into the red car. Neither man has yet been hit by a bullet. My
windshield is holed twice, two round circles that spread out in a jagged
pattern. The bullets have not hit me.
    Police
sirens pulse up ahead and blue and red lights flicker into my eyes. The two men
stop firing at each other and turn to face the direction of the police. Two
black and white cars land on the intersection and the officers are on their
feet, leaning into the gap between their car door and the vehicle itself,
firing their weapons. Machine gun and angled-pistol fire is hammered back at
them. The man from the red car is jumping up and down, firing casually. The man
with the machine gun is poised, anchoring his feet and firing with more care.
Neither takes cover.
    My
windshield takes some more hits and I duck. Glass shatters all around me,
crunching onto the seats and floor. Cowering beneath the steering wheel, I flip
the car into reverse and lift my foot from the brake, feeling the car begin to
move backwards. The gun battle continues. Warily, I lift my head to see through
the space where the window had been. A police officer is falling to the ground.
In that instant, through the gaping hole where my windshield should be, I see
his face contort in pain, as he clutches his chest and crumples backwards. His
body goes slack. I press the accelerator.
    My
car swerves erratically backwards until I see my neighbour, leaving his green
car to go into the drugstore. I shout out, “Get in your car! Run!” But he does
not hear me. I see my other neighbour with her stroller. The child rattles its
toy and gurgles at the sky. I shout out to her, “Get in! Get in!” She ignores
me and continues along the sidewalk. I realise she is going towards the
intersection. I press my horn but she continues, oblivious. I kick the brake to
halt the car.
    I
look through my windshield up ahead; my windshield, it is intact. Rapping it
with a knuckle shows it to be whole. I look to the seat beside me and see only
my briefcase. There is no shattered glass there, or on my lap, or on the floor.
Looking up ahead again, I see the intersection. I can hear myself breathing.
The intersection is clear. The light is green and traffic flows through. There
is no gun battle. I wait for a moment, breathing and listening to the engine
idling. A black SUV overtakes me and cruises down Main Street.
    I
put the car in drive and follow the black SUV. A yellow car passes, travelling
in the opposite direction. The neighbour with the stroller continues with her
journey. The child rattles the toy. My other neighbour locks his green car and
goes into the drugstore. I see now that he is locking it before