I’m home when I hear someone in the bedroom.  I immediately realize that there is someone has broken into my home and I call 911.  I tell the person who answers the phone that someone is stilling my bedding, the sheets and blankets from my bed.  They are understandably skeptical.  I insist they send a car over.  The woman on the phone suggests I leave the premises and wait outside for the police car.  As I am outside waiting, I think about how embarrassing it will be if I am mistaken, if it was only my imagination misleading me to believe that I was not home alone.  I see a dark car with tinted windows pull up.  I stand up to greet the officer in the unmarked car—a slender dark skinned man with a shaved head and large ears, a very long face and full lower lip.  He raises a short rapid fire weapon and shoots me.  Three of the bullets hit my neck and I feel the immediate gush of blood escape through the wound.  In the moment it takes me heart to pump away more of my blood I think, “I thought that was the police.  Too bad I won’t live.  I could easily identify him in a line-up.”  Then everything fades to white as I feel the next flow of blood both cool and warm leave my body.