I'm not here to waste anyone's time so I'll get right into it. My names Oliver and the police asked me to recall and record the events that occurred on February 12, 2006. It was a cold day in Concord, New Hampshire and snow and ice littered the streets; the weather man on Channel 6 had warned about a blizzard that day so I was on my way to a local family owned market to stock the fridge in case I got snowed in. I pulled into the neatly plowed parking lot and zipped up my North Face jacket. As I exited my vehicle I noticed a very sketchy looking man sitting in a Chevy pickup truck looking towards the ground I joked to myself saying "He's probably dead". Anyway I entered the store and walked to the canned goods isle and grabbed some clam chowder and tomato soup. Suddenly I heard screaming from the front of the store. Not much was audible but what I clearly made out was "OPEN THE FUCKING REGISTER!"

I had no idea what to do but hide. I knew the robber had not seen me so I had the upper hand. I crept around the corner of the isle to see what exactly was going on. I saw the store owner, Bob standing behind the register frantically withdrawing dollar bills and handing them to a some what small man holding a machete which looked to be almost as big as him. I was frozen in fear and didn't want to move so I just crouched there motionless. Bob noticed me and stupidly put his fingers in the shape of a phone to his head and mouthed the words "police." Immediately the assailant turned around I noticed he was wearing a suit and a paper bag was over his head and a poorly drawn smiley face. I jumped up and ran to down the isle and I heard footsteps behind me. Sweat poured down my face as I sprinted towards the exit, past Bob who now held a gun. I stopped because I then in that split second believed Bob had the situation under control but I was so wrong. Bob was quite elderly and had osteoporosis which made him overwhelmed by the weight of the weapon. The robber ran in front of Bob and without hesitation swung.

Everything seemed to be in slow motion. As the robber swung, Bob fired and missed. The machete made contact with Bobs throat. Blood hit the register and Bob's frail old body fell to the ground. I smashed through the door and ran to my car. I heard a gunshot and a hot sensation burst through my shoulder. I watched as my bone fragments sprayed out like confetti. I awoke, laying in a ditch on the side of the road. I looked down and saw the gunshot wound was bandaged. I felt my pockets and pulled out a piece of paper; It was a doctors note issued to Ezekiel Spindler it read "Domestic dispute between father (Xander Spindler) led to him to pour propelent on sons face and igniting it. Suffered major 3rd degree burns to neck and face regions. Almost all facial features are unrecognizable. Chances of survival are slim to none." The date was 1987. I wondered what this was for. I stood up and felt a sharp stinging on the left side of my head. I reached around and felt a bloody stump where my left ear used to be.

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