There are variations of the story. I won't tell you have to believe my version, because I've made part of it up.
The heat was blistering. the slight breeze had perished as it tried to move up the street in a vain attempt to climb the dreaded hill to the vintage house that had been mutilated by various owners and eventually split into individually locked appartments with a communal shower and kitchen. Windows open with a single prop fan drawing even more humidity in. A dog barked outside in the distance, a screen door creaked slowly and my senses tightened. Reaching for my gun and stepping behind the open door to the living room, my lungs burned as a shadow moved up the door frame, paused and slid away towards the stair case.
I eased into the ajoining kitchen, opened the tap to fill the pump action cannon and dusted a roach out of the corner as I climbed behind the staircase.
The beat of his steps were permiating here below the feet. My heart complied to each movement. Even as the figure moved from the stairs to the living room where I had been before. Assured the hunter turned prey was resting (as much as a warrior rests) by the springs in the couch, I stepped from within my hiding place and with ninja like heal-toe action moved to the doorway. He was sloppy. He was actually sitting with both eyes closed. Both opened as the cannon fired and both closed in a reflective impulse. My feet knew what I was going to want and bolted for the door. This is where the recording speed speeds up and the play speed slows down. As most houses do in that neighborhood, there are chairs, couches and coolers on the front porch and spreading into the lawn. The toe of my sandal reached out and clung to one of these items in my path, launching me skyward. I landed on the top of one of the said chairs in the lawn with my face. These aren't the classy finished type of chairs. These are the type you find in the dumpster. The chipped wood implanted itself just below my lip. 4 stiches.
The end.