I’d thought about volunteering for something. I thought it’d feel good, to help out a person or animal less fortunate and needy. I imagined the feeling of satisfaction would warm me and fill me with gratitude and love for all the world.

But I’d never imagined I’d volunteer like this.

I’d never done more than thought about volunteering with my hectic schedule and busy life. I’d never stepped up to the door of the humane shelter or the soup kitchen and offered my time and services.

But this time I didn’t think about it; I just did it.

My leap into the air, screaming “No!”, shoving him back, all simultaneous with the sound of the firing of the pistol. I knew where the bullet would go. I knew I didn’t want it to hit him. The timing, the trajectory, calculated without a thought as to where the bullet would hit me, nor an idea of the searing pain it would inflict.

He caught me, his eyes full of tears, and I smiled up at him from his arms. He was alive. That was all that mattered now. I closed my eyes.

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