Playhouse 25 by Mingo Cord
PLAYHOUSE 25…On their way to see a movie, the students hear a gunshot and see a figure running up the alley behind the theatre. They foolishly follow the action.
MINGO…spins a tale of intrigue and danger, only to find herself on an episode of “What Would You Do?”
Playhouse 25
The gunman stands 15 meters in front of the streetlight; his figure is outlined by the luminous glow. My friend and I stare into the barrel of a gun. I am hesitant to take my eye off the killer, but I need to see my friend’s face. Without turning my head, my right eye gazes at Rylee. I wonder what she is thinking right now. Heck I wonder what I’m thinking. Should we flee? Will he shoot? Do we stay and hope he leaves? A shadow casts over his face, the light that originates from the lamppost illuminates his body and reflects off his shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a purer white than his shirt. As my eyes adjust to the situation, I am able to see the blood on his side. Not his blood, the pattern looks to be mist. That indicates that the shooter was in close range with the victim when he was struck. The victim’s blood showered the gunman with very small droplets of red.
Rylee, just like me, is remaining calm. We have always been diffusers of conflict, undisturbed in the face of dispute. I think back to the times when we solved our friends’ quarrels. And then I think of how stupid it was for us to pursue the man. The circumstances of gunshots and a man running seemed like an adventure, we couldn’t ignore. We should have been in the theater by now, dual wielding sodas and striped popcorn buckets. But now, it looks like this is the end. What will they say on our gravestone? Gone too soon? I didn’t think fourteen was all I’d ever see. I wanted to be more, to do more. I want to see my younger sibling grow up. I don’t want to be fourteen forever.
My thoughts give me a reason to speak. I begin to plead with the man. I tell him we won’t say a thing. Nobody needs to know. Although I am unable to see his face, the arm that holds his gun slumps ever so slightly. What I said could be getting through to him.
“We don’t want trouble!” Rylee utters.
“Please let us leave! We are only fourteen, you are more likely to escape if you leave us! Think of the headlines, ‘Manhunt for shooter of two teenage girls’.” (I pray he has morals.)
Slowly cars from both sides of the alley close in. The headlights blind us. This is the end, I think to myself. The gunman has probably summoned for backup. And they will leave no witnesses. I turn my head to Rlyee. Tears hang in her eyes, as do mine. I shut my eyes hard, I don’t want to see death.
Why am I not dead? It should have happened by now. It’s been, what? One minute? Two? I squint my left eye open, and then my right. When I sense the danger is gone, I open them fully.
There are huge cameras in our faces.
“My name is John Quiñones and this is ‘What Would You Do?’
Mingo Cord
10/22/2025