Page 4 of Bastian

I manage to get myself free and run back to my parents in time to see our black SUV speed away while a man in a black ski mask waves a gun at the crowd as if he’s proud of what he’s done.

No.

No.

Please, God. No.

Then I see it.

I see them.

Face down on the ground, covered in blood.

Dropping to my knees, I crawl toward them, covering not only my clothes but my hands, too, in their blood.

Blood.

There is so much of it.

Pooling on the ground and spilling out of my father’s mouth.

On his blond hair.

His white shirt.

God, no.

Why?

Why did this happen?

Who would do this?

“Father! Please!” I move to my father, seeing his eyes closed and his chest no longer moving, and I know he’s long gone. With a broken heart, spirit, and soul, I turn away from my father even when it kills me. Then I move toward my mother and find that she’s not dead. Her eyes are unfocused but open.

Barely able to breathe, I cradle my mother’s bloody body in my arms. “Mommy?” I cry out. I haven’t called her that since I was seven years old, but at this moment, I feel like that little boy who called out to his mom whenever he got hurt or had a nightmare.

The boy that only felt safe when he was in his beautiful mother’s arms.

Mom doesn’t speak, there’s so much blood, but she manages to lift her hand weakly and touch my heart. A heart that is broken and won’t ever beat the same. Not if she leaves me.

She taps my chest twice as tears keep falling from her eyes, mixing with the blood on her cheeks.

“I love you. I love you both so much.” I whisper so only she can hear. “You’ll be alright. Just hang on. Please, mom, please don’t leave me.”

I cry, and I scream until my lungs hurt.

What little remains of my heart breaks the moment her eyes close.

“No, no, no. God, no! Mom!” I rock my mother gently in my arms, willing her to come back. To open her pretty-green eyes and smile at me one last time.

But she doesn’t.

She’s gone.

They both are.

Rage and grief battle out inside of me.

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