Suicide, By Cop
We are on our way to the trailer.
2/3rds the way down the 108
when a line of cop cars seal off the highway
in both directions.
Start putting on their bulletproof vests
and speaking into a megaphone
to this old blue pickup that has parked itself
in the middle of the road.
We roll down our windows,
but can’t hear what is being said.
A long line begins to form behind us.
It is the summer high season.
The only road out of town.
A few onlookers get out of their vehicles
and walk up to our truck and others.
Asking each other what is going on.
A large black cop in tactical gear
starts walking up the long line of cars.
Tells us we should turn around and head back to town.
That a gentleman in the blue truck with a shotgun
is threatening to shoot himself or anyone
that drives by.
Good thing we stopped for gas,
my wife says.
If we had been a few minutes earlier,
he could have shot us!
I agree.
The price of gas is awful,
but this would have been far worse.
Some bald guy walks up to our truck
and says the guy in the blue truck is now
looking to commit suicide, by cop.
They appear ready to oblige.
Getting out their tactical assault rifles
and calling in a chopper and dog team.
The megaphone keeps trying to talk him down.
Crouched behind their police cruisers.
A few people start turning around
to head back to town and we do the same.
Using the shoulder of the road
to do a three-point turn.
Many others stay put.
Not wanting to miss the action.
A few hours later,
my wife reads on her phone that the
highway has been reopened.
The man has “surrendered without incident.”
Though it seemed a very definite incident to me.
Just the week before,
there was a violent home invasion
across the street.
Happened early morning,
the cops came by looking for
camera footage.
Had the dogs searching the woods behind the house
and tactical assault units out in force again.
Everyone seems to be getting crazier
by the day.
Even up here in the sticks.
Where nothing of consequence
is ever supposed to happen.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author who lives in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage. His work has been published both in print and online in such places as: The New York Quarterly, Red Fez, Evergreen Review, The Literary Underground, Horror Sleaze Trash, Rusty Truck, Zygote in my Coffee, and The Oklahoma Review. He enjoys listening to the blues and cruising down the TransCanada in his big blacked out truck.
