The loud, sudden BANG crystallised the air with such severity that, for the best part of a few seconds, time seemed as if it had stood still. Hearts ceased their perpetual pumping. Breathing halted. Minds whizzing with assumed perceptions.

Normally, such an unexpected burst of unrestrained noise, if heard in the midst of an unbearably exciting football game, or within endless streams of traffic, or out in the rolling, wind swept paddocks of a country farm, would not have elicited such a surprised response. Yet, in the hushed, formal environs of a suburban bank, it cracked through the pensive, unemotional atmosphere with unparalleled intensity.

Kate McKeown, a wife, mother of two and an earnest bank employee, who was characterised by a curious tossing of the hair mannerism, had been floating through the day's business without focused consciousness, an automaton in the world of pecuniary exchange. Faces before her blurred and unfamiliar, personal bank books thrust impassively and mechanically into ravenous machines, extensive computer read outs not clearly registering in her mind, official signatures of authorisation mere unintelligible scribble under the mysterious blue light, unknown amounts of money slipping casually back and forth across her desk.

There was a dignified mumble of voices, a shuffle of feet as the queue moved forward a few paces, an occasional raised voice from a hearing impaired individual unaware of their own volume. Nothing out of the ordinary, the bank having only just opened its doors, a steady stream of morning customers gathering inside once the tellers had organised themselves and removed "closed" signs off their desks, beginning their usual, monotonous monetary business with no hint whatsoever of what was to happen. No one, including Kate, heard the rust infested red Cortina screech to a stop outside, its swift arrival only discernible from a hollow squeal of tires that blended into a kaleidoscope of noise pollution filtering through the automatic doors.

But then, there was the bang. It was as if the persons before her, staring at her, observing her duties, had been cut free from the strings holding their bodies in motion, the sea of uniform, solemn faces falling to the floor, everyone instinctively dropping to their knees. With the wall of people fast disappearing, she then beheld what she had hoped and dreamed never to see. A man, dressed exclusively in black and wearing a black, woollen balaclava had stormed unceremoniously into the room, the automatic doors closing slowly behind him like modern versions of the swing doors in a dusty bar in a Clint Eastwood movie, a fallen interest rate billboard flat-bellied on the carpet beside him.

The man stood tall, legs apart, surveying the room. He was holding a lethal looking hand gun and then, without hesitation, fired a succession of two or three shots into two revolving video cameras hanging on either side of the ceiling, smashing them into pieces and shattering broken debris all over screaming people below.

As the shrieking gradually subsided, those still standing quickly ducked down, silent, avoiding eye contact, many lying low on the floor, mothers protecting their young children, watching with horrified looks on their petrified faces as the man waved his gun at them, non-verbally threatening them not to move and to remain silent.

Kate was not prepared for something like this. All previous training and instruction seemed to vanish from her head. She was staring at the man when their vision locked. She dared not look away. This was no time for indicating submission. She had to stand her ground. Her heart recommenced its pumping, thumping furiously in her chest as her stare hardened.

The man's eyes broke off first, he glancing around again and then he ran forward firmly, jumping over the frozen bodies of customers on the floor and leaping in one single, powerful athletic bound onto her desk. Balancing himself, he searched the lay of the land like an army commando. He failed to see a teller beneath him craftily slip her hand along the underside of the desk and nervously push a white button several times. He was more interested in a passage way he saw leading down to the back of the bank.

About to jump down, he then saw the attractive looking teller with her arm under her desk looking up at his slovenly form, her badge glistening the name "Kate" at him. Jumping down, he swung his black back-pack from off him and slammed it down, forcing the cold, small tip of his gun into her temple.

Kate froze on the spot. She swallowed several times and attempted to breathe, feeling the man's piercing eyes boring into her as he shoved her about, compelling her to open the tray of cash. She did so, reluctantly. This was unreal, she kept telling herself, a horrible nightmare that would soon finish, waking up in a cold sweat with her husband wide eyed beside her. Yet, she could realistically feel his hot breath brush past her cheek and her arm jerked outwards as he thrust forward a cold, black, leather glove and hungrily snatched the bundles of cash.

"Please. Please don't hurt me," she found herself saying, her voice riddled with inflections of fear.

There was no orderliness in his robbery. He took what he could find, stuffing it into his bag with no sign of compunction. She saw his eyes, relishing his authority, his control. Once he had cleared her work station he then pushed her out with his gun which ached in the side of her head and maneuvered her towards the back offices, passing the bank manager who stood motionless, frozen with fear, overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all, watching helplessly as his employee was employed as a hostage, an object of retaliation if anyone did so much as hint at foiling his plans.

Forcing her through the passageway at the back of the bank, the man in the balaclava pointed his gun into each of the offices, systematically checking out the entire building. He was about to enter one room when he crashed into a woman coming out. She gave a startled, muffled scream and he immediately cupped his black gloved hand over her mouth and propelled her and Kate back into the office.

Inside, a man in a suit was closing the door to a large safe that was projecting out of a wall. The offender, grinning maliciously, pushed his new captive violently towards the man and throwing his back pack down onto a table in front of the safe motioned with his gun for them to fill it with money and then replaced his weapon at his hostage's head as a warning if disobedience occurred.

Slowly at first, the terrified couple began taking piles of neatly stacked notes and placing them into his bag. Gradually, as the stark realisation that a unknown man was pointing a gun at one of their fellow workers, compelling them to become accomplices to his crime, they became crippled with fear, the woman starting to sob uncontrollably. Annoyed to the point of exasperation at their slowness, the offender grabbed his bag and shoved the two aside, curling his arm around the piles of money and scraping them into his back pack while still waving his gun about in a threatening manner. He then swung his bag over his shoulder and ran out of the office, down the passageway and back into the bank, pushing Kate in front of him with the tip of his gun, directing her past the teller's desks and into the carpeted front area.

It was, as he passed a bewildered public gathering of bank customers, that he received the shock of his life. A police vehicle sat outside, its red and blue lights flashing in the window, a police officer rushing in through the automatic doors.

Both the officer and the offender stopped dead in their tracks. Both were surprised to see each other. The officer, with the automatic doors closing behind him, had expected the robbery to have been completed before his prompt arrival.

The startled offender was totally taken aback by how rapidly the police had responded. He stood there, staring back defiantly as his back pack by accident slid partially of his back, some money fluttering to the ground. The police officer was dazed by the situation confronting him. With a hand motion, he restrained his companion rushing in from behind, who was likewise entering the bank unaware of what was occurring. The two officers then stood there, not knowing what to do, paralyzed with perplexity.

Kate was once more having difficulty breathing. She felt the offender's muscular arm tighten around her stomach, drawing her backwards and then became aware of a dreadfully familiar metal coldness as the tip of his gun was pressed firmly into her right temple. She was unable to move, in a state of shock. Up until now, she had remained calm and collected, but an all encompassing fear was becoming so overbearing that she felt as if she was on the verge of losing all consciousness.

The police officers were similarly confounded, their minds addled with the complexity and delicacy of the circumstances before them. What could they do to avert the innumerable complications of an innocent employee being dragged into a life threatening situation, merely so an offender could use her as a hostage, guaranteeing his escape? They only had one option. They took a few paces backwards to imply their stepping down in the confrontation. It was a small action, even if in most people's minds, especially Kate's, it was likely signing the death warrant of an innocent woman.

Only when she found herself being gradually maneuvered towards the back of the bank was it that Kate began to fully understand her predicament, how she was a helpless pawn in the offender's game, allowing his safe escape. To her, whatever way things turned from now on seemed to have an undesirable eventuality: if the police tried to capture or shoot the offender then, with all probabilities considered, she would most likely be dead. On the other hand, if the police left him alone, as it now appeared to be the case, she would ultimately remain in his power, a hostage with an uncertain and possibly fatal future. These macabre thoughts raced through her mind that was beginning to go numb with the imperilment of her dilemma.

She did not want to contemplate what it would feel like to be shot through the head. As long as it was quick, the bullet's entry knocking her unconscious, she wouldn't mind. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like to have her head blown apart and still be alive and conscious. She didn't want to think how a grieving family would respond to her untimely departure. Death was not a pleasant thought. She was young, with a family and a future ahead of her. How could she die and not live to see her children grow up, see them achieve at school, maybe themselves having children of their own? She couldn't bear to think of not being there at those momentous milestones in their lives.

It was then, as she was being slowly dragged backwards that a new, foreign sensation swelled up inside her. Was she going to willingly allow some imbecile of a criminal ruin her life over some insignificant amount of money? Adrenaline was coursing through her veins at lightning speed, sweat moistening her face and hands. Her mouth was intolerably dry, her head burning with incomprehensible mental anguish. She had to do something.

And then she saw it. They were edging past the information desk when a golden twinkle caught her attention. Only a few centimeters away, carefully placed in a fancy black desk organiser was a handsome looking fountain pen, sitting neatly in an easily accessible location. She glanced up nervously to the side to see that the offender's finger was hardly near the formidable trigger. She could not let such an opportunity pass her by. She swallowed. Took a deep breath. And then made her move.

With unrestrained ease and skill, her dainty hand collected the fountain pen and flicking her supple wrist she then twisted her arm and with all the energy in her body she hurled herself at his leg, the sharp golden point of the pen swinging through the air with such rapidity that it blurred into a streak of black and gold. Suddenly, the offender doubled up as the glistening point dug into his rounded thigh, he collapsing powerlessly to the floor with a stabbing roar of pain, Kate hastily snatching the gun from his grasp and holding it victoriously at his defenseless form.

The bank manager and the two police officers quickly ran to her aid, apprehending the offender by snapping handcuffs around his flailing hands. But Kate did not see this. She was knocked over by the suddenness and successfulness of her actions. Her mind went blank, all her perceptive senses ceased to exist, no sound, her ears buzzing, her vision out of focus, her head reeling with the enormity of what she had done. Then, as a nauseous sensation swamped her body, a curtain of black came over her eyes and all perceived time and mental consciousness dwindled into unknown infinity.

Silence.

Blackness.

A sound of distant, passing vehicles. Some birds tweeting noisily outside. Then she heard a far away siren wailing, disappearing. Kate swallowed, wetting her dry throat. She could feel a film of sweat coating her face. Then she opened her eyes.

To her surprise, through bleary eyes, she found herself flat on her back, lying on a comfortable sofa in her lounge, bathed in sunlight, cushions supporting her neck and a paperback novel on her chest. She breathed in and out slowly and turned at the sound of a ticking clock to see it was twenty-past-one in the afternoon. She had, like so many times before, fallen asleep after lunch.

Admittedly, it had been a busy morning at work and she was tired after a late night. She sat herself up, placing the novel to one side, shaking her head at the stupidity of the dream. She stretched and yawned a bit and was about to stand up, knowing she had only ten minutes to start her afternoon shift at the bank, when something caught the attention of her peripheral vision. She looked around. There was something sparkling on the ground and she reached forward and picked it up, examining it closely through weary eyes. She shook her head and her eyes widened in disbelief.

In her hand she held a black fountain pen, its bent, pointed nib twinkling playfully in the sun.