When Little Johnny got grounded, one of his punishments was the suspension of all internet privileges. He could endure exile in his room. But the confiscation of his computer with wireless internet? That was the last straw. The kid had to make his move.

Little Johnny loaded up his paintball guns and found a couple of pocket knives. He placed his weapons on top of his desk, cursing under his breath while he paced around his room. After some consideration, Little Johnny decided that the paintball guns weren’t very menacing–especially in his little 13-year-old hands. He picked up one of his knives and went downstairs to confront his mother.

Johnny’s mother was accustomed to the temper tantrums. She was hopeful that the nine different psych meds the shrink prescribed for Little John would keep him under control. But the pills and eight years of head-shrinking therapy failed the little boy. When her son walked down the stairs yelling, screaming, crying and holding a knife to his own throat, she called the police. Little Johnny, knowing the cops were coming, decided to run away.

Two cops caught up with Johnny a couple of blocks away. He backed into a neighbor’s driveway with the knife to his throat. “Get the fuck away from me or I’ll cut myself!” he demanded.

Two more uniformed patrolmen showed up. One of them retrieved a large shotgun from the trunk of his police car. The distinctive sound of a shotgun being racked momentarily eclipsed the sounds of Johnny’s sobbing and the crackling of police radios. “Tell that guy to put down the shotgun!” Johnny demanded.

“Put down the knife, kid!” ordered one of the patrolmen.

“Tell that dude to put down the shotgun and I’ll consider it,” replied the boy, parroting a line he had heard in a movie.

The cop with the shotgun took position next to a tree and declared, “Beanbag ready!”

Little Johnny, not realizing that the shotgun being aimed at him was loaded with non-lethal ammunition, considered what it would be like to have a hole punched through his tiny little torso. He cringed at the thought of the sidewalk being decorated with his innards.

The little boy knew the jig was up. Unlike his mother, these cops weren’t going to play the game by his rules. He was not in control, and he really didn’t want to die. Little Johnny dropped the knife and put his hands in the air.

Tags: mental illness · police · suicide