"Get out of here, pig! We won't serve you here." That true story really happened this year to a Fayetteville police officer at one of our local fast food drive-thru restaurants.
Stories move our emotions. They have power to put the reader into the scene, like Walter Cronkite's TV dramas, "You Are There." Here's a fictional story that attempts that.
Lost in thought, my head down, I walked briskly in the bright Florida sunshine. The sidewalk bustle carried me along in its flow until I looked up, abruptly stopped by a man's voice. I heard someone say to me, "Ron, I've been searching for you!"
What? Who was this person who had suddenly stepped in front of me? I didn't recognize him at all. Why would anyone be looking for me? He was dressed expensively, athletic, about 30, and carried himself like a man on a mission. I felt caught, like I was about to be arrested.
He saw my alarm. "I have a gift for you," he said with a smile. His clear blue eyes penetrated right through me. He was so sure of himself, like he knew me, or knew something about me. He seemed familiar but I couldn't place him. He went on to say, "It's part of the inheritance he left for you. If you'll receive it, your life will never be the same. Don't be afraid. Come with me and I'll show you."
Wow! Can you see yourself in that scene? What do you imagine happens next? Are you curious, excited? Or, do you feel foreboding, a dreadful sense that this can't possibly turn out well?
Writing a story is like painting a picture, but with pen and ink rather than brush and canvas. The audience should be enticed to continue following the story, turning the pages, led further along in a mystery or drama that unfolds within their imagination - all created by the writer's skill. A writer creates vivid scenes, real or illusory. Now another scene, taken from real life, an actual event.
On a gray December dawn, a red firetruck was blocking the street behind the Fayetteville police station. I snapped a photo on my cell phone. A few weary policemen in blue uniform stood around. Yellow tape barricaded the area. The TV news camera with its electronic unblinking eye had departed. I saw a lone fireman using a pressurized hose. He was washing something off the street.
We'd heard the crackling shots. We'd been startled by the long, loud wail of sirens continually echoing through the streets the night before. We'd seen the numerous cars quickly leaving the town square, the children staring out the vehicle windows, eyes wide with fear.
The blood was from a young policeman, a good man, a kind person, a peacekeeper. The cop-killer had ambushed the patrolman as he sat waiting in his car, right there at that spot, just behind the police station, one block from my home, in my city. Our community was punched in the gut. We weren't prepared. Taken by surprise, it was an unfair, violent hit for which we were not ready.
We can all ask the question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" In this case, it happened precisely because a man was good. He put himself in the path of bad people, standing on the brave blue line between chaos and order, for citizens' families. He was an enforcer of good. For that he paid the ultimate price. That's a fact, not fiction.
-- Ron Wood is a writer and minister. Email him at [email protected] or visit www.touchedbygrace.org. The opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 12/18/2019