Michael's Death

The walls of hollow paint particles, she swears, she has counted them. When she was a prisoner in the dull wakes of her brothers death.A gruesome death at that.Her eyes teared every time she goes to tell the sorrowful ordeal.

Rumor has it that her and her brother, Michael, were shooting hoops in the Westminster playground. When she noticed a wayward dirty clothed man selling crack to naive children.

The man entered the yard grabbing the basketball taking out his long knife yelling, "Buy some crack or I am slicing the ball."

Michael ran for his ball diving into the jagged hunting knife.

The man pressed it in deeper and twisted the knife.Blood gushed rapidly from Michael's body.

His sister screamed, "Michael," in fear for his life. She dug at the man, like a wild ferrous cat, clawing at his eyes, while on his back.

The man's left eye popped from his filthy head, as seagulls dived for the feast, pecking his eye to pieces.

The man ran covering his eye with his wrinkled hand, now oozing blood.He crashed into the fence, stumbled over the curve and fell in the black tar road, crushed by a rig, then mangled to a pulp, by the wheels and the weight of a charter bus.

Her mind fell from rage and grasped reality, running franticly to her dieing brother. In his last breath of life he spoke softly, "Never buy or start using drugs. "Micheal's body, became lifeless in her arms.

Grief stricken, she rocked him in cradled arms, until the ambulance came with flashing red lights and sirens. Trying to pry her arms from his corpus. She cried out,"NO! He is not dead bring him back," and she weep grasping herself in a hug, rocking endlessly.

(This is only the first chapter I feel I should add to this one.What do you think?)