It is Sunday, September 5. A woman is yelling for her life in Tegucigalpa. Her husband pulls the trigger.

“Please no, please,” her desperation echoes through the dark street.

Four gun shots are fired as she yells frantically. In my room, just meters from the incident, I get chills in my bones as I approach the window.

“Stop for god sakes, stop,” more women now yell in complete pandemonium.

One more shot is fired. Scuffling is heard. I hide behind red curtains. My heart is beating its way out if my chest. I call Leo Matamoros and another friend to ask for help. I feared the man was about to kill his wife.

“You son of a b****, I hate you,” the women yells as the man runs off.

Leo calls the cops and tells me to stay in my room. The silence of the night has regained control. Light sobs are still heard in the distance. I pace in my room as I await the arrival of the police. The woman’s screams continue to race through my mind.

“Yes, yes we know how it is,” a police man says from his vehicle.

After half an hour, the law arrives at the scene. A dark figure comes out of the building and begins talking to them. They speak as if they are old buddies.

“Okay we’ll keep an eye out,” the police man says before driving away.

I lay in my room starring at the ceiling. A light rain now falls. I feel as if I am in a horrible nightmare. The desperation in that woman’s voice as she yelled for her life is something I will never forget. The force of the gun shots just outside my window gave me a new perspective on the gun and just how powerful it is. I thought he was going to kill her and there was nothing I could do. I stood frozen in my room feeling helpless.