He could be watching
He could be stalking
He could be packing all his tools
He could be working it all out in his mind
He could be sneaking up behind you

She could be walking home from school
She could be unlocking her car door
She could be in her own home

Their eyes meet
She could be praying and begging
Then it hits him
Down he goes
Not understanding the ringing in his head
Or the blood running out of his nostrils
In a few seconds she is free and flees
In a few more the intruder lay dead

The power of having firearms in the home
How else would she be able to drop him like a stone.

By: Connie Hopkins