Yeah. I was a drunk college kid from a rural place that moved to dodgy city. I was drinking with some friends, it was a Thursday night, and I didnt want to go out since I had class early the next day.
I decided to go for a solo longboard session in my neighborhood which for the most part always seemed safe but I never really had explored the street all the way south, so thats where I decided to go.
I went down the sreet to a hill near a park that was dodgy but I never thought twice about going in. I passed by a group of people who shouted at me, but my niave ass just thought they were stoked I was bombing about to bomb a hill. I blasted down the hill and the same dudes who holared, some seemed old others really young gathered at the one street light near the bottom of the hill.
I blasted down the hill passing them, I heard them yell at me again as I passed, I think it was to stop but there was no way I was crusing way to fast.
I eventually made it to a flat street which was pitch black, only the distant street lights glowed maybe .5 a mile away.
Two kids about my age appeared out of nowhere behind me on bikes, the same guys from the park. I said "hey whats going on guys." I half expected a high five but was met with a very serious no bullshit: "whats in your pockets?" I didn't quite grasp what was going on and kept pumping my longboard closer to the main street. I was drunk but even if I wasn't I probably wouldn't have known what was about to go down. I said: "Huh." They very sternly said again "Whats in your pockets?" I stumbled for a second and the liquid courage took over as it started to click, "uuh nothing why, your trying to find out?" His friend who was behind the main guy asking me questions started to get a little shook, my false bravado and liquid courage was working on the perturbators friend, but he was unphased and was not fucking around. He just kept repeating "whats in your pockets?" over and over again at higher and higher frequencies. I pumped my longboard faster and faster and had finally made it back to an intersection that had street lights. His last repetition made me realize that he wasnt going to push his luck any more so close to the main road which was always littered with cops.
Finally his friend turned around and said "Im out X he aint got anything!" The pertubator failed to give me another repetition. I felt like a victor and got smug, it was all a game to me at that point. He was still following me briefly for a period of 10 seconds at most after his friend ditched. I looked him in the eye as I floated on my longboard and smuggly said "Whatcha going to do kill me anyways over a shitty phone and 5 dollars in my wallet?" I said it with a shit eating grin.
He looked at me and pulled out a beautiful jet black glock 9 from his wasteband. It was just a standard glock but it was brand spanking new and I had never seen one till that point. I was so suprised at how small it was but under no circumstance doubt its effectiveness.
I was floating on my longboard, momentum caring me towards my perceived safety only to be caught in straight silence. The pertubator, his glock, me gliding down the smooth pavement, as we sat locked for what felt like enternity our gazes locked. His gun pointed straight at my face. It was calm, it felt ok, the air felt cool. I had realized very acutely now in a sudden dimmer of reasoning that "oh yeah I guess he wasn't fucking around." In alot of ways if he shot me then and there it would have been a very peaceful death. It would have been sudden and tragic but peaceful.
The sudden peace was broken as he pulled the trigger and a distinct click pierced as the hammer hit the back of the chamber. I was still alive and he has pulled the trigger. He said calmly "You're lucky white boy." As he turned around and booked it back into the darkness. I continued gliding towards the light, indeed I was very lucky.
Even though I survived that night a bit of my soul died. I become very serious for a long time after that. I didnt like exploring. I become anxious around new people and developed a bit of social anxiety. I recovered a few years later after going to therapy, I was diagnosed with PTSD. I had to relearn most people are good and that I can be safe. For a long time after the incident I never felt safe.