The Scariest Moment Of Our Lives (And How We Could've Outrun Usain Bolt That Night)

       I saw this request somewhere while browsing the internet: Describe your scariest moment.

      Well, I had a few really scary moments (one of which is experiencing sleep paralysis for the first time. Imagine waking up and seeing demons and dead relatives inside your room and not realizing what the hell was happening) but this incident (a scene straight from a nail-biting suspense-thriller movie) stands out.

       I was at a classmate’s house then (we were graduating then and finishing some project at that time) and it’s almost midnight when we decided to grab some beer. The stores were already closed so we decided to walk and enter the first beerhouse (which was small and cheap) we saw. There’s an announcement at the door so we weren’t surprised (there were three of us) when a lady started dancing provocatively on a small stage wearing a very skimpy outfit. At midsong, she approached our table, started to grind and hump and bump near us,  throwing us naughty stares and seductive smiles. When the song finished, she disappeared into a room.

       The lights went out for a little while and when they turned it on again, another lady was dancing on the stage. And again, she (I thought her earrings were bigger than her bikini) also went to our table and danced and looked at me like we were long-lost lovers. The song finished and she, too, disappeared into a room.

       Then, another lady appeared on stage, as if it was routinary, she also went to our table and danced and flirted with us but we were polite and kept our hands to ourselves (we were college boys, remember? we’re educated. Lol). That’s also the time when I noticed the grumblings and the groans coming from  other tables. They wanted the ladies to dance to them, too, but apparently, the ladies, for some reason unbeknownst to us, were ignoring them. 

       Anyway, it was another intermission and the lights were still out and the stage was still empty when we heard a gunshot—yes, a gunshot—and a beer bottle crashing, shattering into pieces. It turned out that it was one of our bottles. We stared dumbfounded at the shattered beer bottle on our table.

       HOLY SMOKE! SOMEBODY SHOT AT US! 

       It was dark so there’s no way that the shooter intentionally targeted the bottle, he probably missed us and hit the bottle instead. Panic naturally ensued inside the bar and some personnel approached us and inquired, and while we were being interrogated, we saw four men sneak out of the bar while throwing us dagger looks. That’s when we realized we’re in serious trouble. We were certain that the shooter came from those four men and now they’re (most likely) outside and waiting for us. Darn, to think that that place was notorious and corpses littering its  streets at the break of dawn weren’t really an unusual sight there.

       We started hatching a plan. That moment, it was getting business as usual again inside the bar, and we could tell that the cops weren’t called. We decided to just run out of the door and then run as fast as we could. Not really a wise plan, but we didn’t have much options, there was no way we would engage them in a fist fight, they had guns, for Pete’s sake, and we also couldn’t stay long inside the bar because the culprits could come back inside anytime and corner us and shoot at us again, this time finally hitting their intended targets.

        There was a stair leading down to the door and we nimbly descended on it and then, slammed the door open and ran, not into the street, but on the sidewalk leading to a major street. And—gasp—the four men were there waiting for us. We ran past them and they yelled, “Hoy, mga Pogi!” (together with ear-piercing curses) at us but we didn’t look back, that wasn’t an option, though that was probably the first time somebody called me “Pogi” and I felt flattered.  We heard another gunshot and it just made us run faster. We ran for our lives and I was sure that Usain Bolt would’ve been no match for us that night. I probably chalked up eight seconds in a hundred meters that night and my two companions, 7.5 seconds. We didn’t run that night, we skyrocketed.

       We only stopped running when we’re certain that we’re safe. We were panting and my heart felt like it would die on me. So why were they trying to harm us? The f—kers probably got jealous with us because the ladies were preferring us, but really, we, too, would’ve preferred the ladies dancing for them, we only wanted some beer that night. 

       Ah, the things you do for a bottle of beer. And the things they do for a little flesh.