A knife at a Gunfight.

     I had just found in a suitcase, a gun, a knife, and $1500 cash in a suitcase. Now, I feel like I should tell you that I'd never held a gun before, much less fired one. Just keep that in mind.
Anyway, July, 2010, I had these few items, and no idea what to do with myself. I spent a long time wandering, studying the items i had on me now, Was the type of gun important? I tried to find out what type of gun it was, but as I've mentioned, I never sorted it out. The gun used to make me very uncomfortable, I'd try to avoid seeing it in my belongings. Of course, now it's almost an old friend.
     I spent the next few days thinking about where I needed to go next. I knew where I wanted to be, but I knew it was a bad idea, but I decided to go anyway. I spent a bit of the cash I had on hand at a thrift store to buy a black suit, and then, on July 12th, I drove to Natalie Emory's Funeral.
     The funeral was at the evergreen community cemetery, graveside. It was a warm day, lots of sun, but I was wishing it would rain. I was so incredibly guilty. It's really hard for me to express this kind of stuff, but I was close to tears the whole time. There were a lot of people there, maybe fifty, and many of them were already crying. She had really meant a lot to people, and for her to have died so young, it was terrible. I hid in the crowd, listened to eulogies, and thought all my apologies to Natalie. I hope she heard them, but lately, I doubt it. After the funeral, Everyone was invited to her parent's house for the wake. I decided not to go, and instead waited for everyone to leave. Then I approached the grave, and cried in earnest.
     That's when the bullet hit the dirt beside me. It was a narrow miss, but they were definitely aiming for me. I lept up, tears still in my eyes and looked behind me, scanning the field of stones. About six or seven rows of graves away, I could see him: Wilson Ingrams, pointing a gun my direction, and running toward me, with two guys with him. I got up and ran for cover as quickly as I could, cursing myself for coming to the funeral. I knew it was a bad idea, and I had been right. Ingram threw a few more shots at me, but I was behind a pretty large tombstone, so the first few hit that. I assessed the situation: I was sitting with my back to a tombstone, pistol in one pocket, and the knife in the other. The notes had scared me into bringing them. I took the gun out of my pocket, and checked the chambers, they were all loaded, then I took off my safety and peered out. Immediately, the rock by my head exploded, and a ringing pounded through my head. I considered doing the "look at the reflection in you knife" thing, but it was frosted, so I wouldn't be able to see anyway. So, out of desperation, I reached my hand above the stone and fired one shot. My hand flew backward, and the gun flew loose from my hand, landing outside my cover. "Fucking idiot." Ingram laughed the meanest laugh you'd ever hear, and called out "Are you kidding me? Guys, go grab this little shit" The gun was out of reach, there were two guys about to close in on me, and I had nowhere to run. I pulled the knife out of my pocket and braced myself.
     They came around both sides at the same time, I slashed wildly at one of them, and knicked his arm. He yelled and pulled back, but while I was facing him, the other guy threw an arm around my neck, holding me in a headlock. I tried to stab at him under my shoulder, it was stupid, but it seemed like the thing to do. I got a big gash on my back, but I managed to slash him up a bit worse. I was bleeding heavily, but I had enough energy to run. I grabbed the pistol, and started toward my car. The guy with the cut on his arm was after me instantly, so I fired at him with the pistol. My first shot missed, but the second one hit him in the shoulder. I got Stupid lucky at that point, because Ingram started firing on me, and missed with the first two shots. I tried to shoot back at him, but I was a terrible shot, and he was way behind me. I saved one shot in case he caught up with me, but as I lept into my car, I could tell he had stopped following. I threw my gun and bloody knife into the passenger seat, and started driving again.