Cold Blooded Memory

         “Mark,” I whispered into the dying man’s ear, blood spewing out of his chest from the several shot wounds.  Compressing my hand on his chest trying to stop the bleeding, it just came out faster with each compression. It seemed all I could do was watch him turn cold, while his breathing slowed where you couldn’t hear his gasps.

I looked up at the shooter, “This is all you fault!” I stood up and just stared at him with an astonished face, “How could you! He was your best friend! All he wanted to do was help you!”

         Drew, the shooter didn’t say anything. He just stared at the mess he had made, his face showed nothing but mistake; leaving the gun dangling from his fingers.

         Knowing there was no point of helping Drew, I knew I had to save Mark. I ran out of the dark alley into the lighted street trying to look for anyone that could help, but the road was just left deserted only leaving a telephone booth two blocks away. Hoping it worked as I ran to it, dialing the 911 emergency number without thinking hearing a  weary female voice, “911. What’s your emergency?”

         At the moment I was about to speak, I heard a gunshot that wasn’t too far away just knowing what Drew did. My mind seemed to go blank; the only thing I could whisper back to the operator was, “Why?” over and over again.

         I guess the operator kept asking me what had happened without me realizing, but I did hear several moments later from my stone state, “We found your location. Help is on the way. Mam? Are you there?”

         All I could feel was Mark’s drying blood on me, knowing that I was alone with a deadly memory.



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