Cold Hard Cash

Encapsulated by the polar ice cap that was her heart, she suddenly refused to answer any more of their calls. Severing every means of communication, she had sealed any chance of resolving this situation peacefully.

Twenty police cars surrounded her snow-covered trailer, lights flashing, dancing like a disco ball, cascading off the frozen tin like Rockefeller Center at Christmas. Each man armed to the teeth, dotting her windows like I's in a grammar lesson, awaiting their command to fire.

She deliberately made eye contact with the chief, her eyes as empty as a verb, before pulling the blinds tight, making the inside darker than a shadow's shadow at midnight. Virtually invisible.

Communication lost, they were now entirely deaf and blind.

The only decision left to be made was, just how far they were willing to cross that line to get inside.

Before anyone could ask, the chief waved his hand in a wide circle. Through the frozen darkness, an explosive roar boomed through the veil of lights.

Waiting for a nod from the chief, sat his deputy, in what could only be described as a tank. Made up of scrap snow plows the county had dumped, deemed as unsafe.

Chief Polson had brought an eraser for the line that she had drawn.

In fact, he named it; "Can Opener."

"Your call honey," he smiled.

The deputy revved the engines accelerating full speed into the trailer. Shards of glass exploded into a million pieces.

They say, that's what she'd escaped with.