Wounded Heart

Wind blew through the night in a murderous way. It held a familiar scent as it blew with the darkness. It was a sinister sound, but it's not what awoke me.
A ringing echoed through my head. I hadn't realized that it wasn't from my head, until I noticed a tall silhouette figure appeared to be floating through the air. It wasn’t what I expected. It had a familiar shape, and a face seemed to appear from it.
“Stabbed,” a faint whisper came from the silhouette figure. “He can talk?”
My mind raced as it heard the heart pounding words. I had no consciousness to believe that this was real. But what benefits could this dream possibly have against me?
I learned all too soon, that it wasn’t a dream. My eyes awoke me as they were revealed of the figure that walked back and forth. My step mother, with phone in hand walked from the kitchen. It was a startling realization as she told me what had happened.
“Tina,” I had whispered. There was a part of me that had a deep fear of what had happened, but she was silenced by the other part that just had to know. I inhaled a deep breath, and spoke. “What happened?”
She took no time in answering. “Your brother was stabbed.” She had paused as she saw the pained expression that had painted my face. “But he’s okay,” she quickly added.
My heart beat with a fierce fire and blood pulsed through my veins as they raced to redeem my pained heart. Time around me had slowed down in an excruciated slow pace, until time had stopped all together.
Tina and my father had just opened the door and told me they were coming back.
“No,” my heart raced as it had started again. “Let me come.” I demanded.
At that moment, I had only one question in my mind. Was my brother dead? I had to discover the truth, and I had to know who did this to him. The drive to the hospital was the slowest moments of my life. Cars seemed to past by our car, that to me, didn’t seem to be moving. As we drove to the hospital, my heart began to ease itself. That is, until I saw him.
He was strapped to an I.V. machine. His heart beat echoed through the room. Slight signs of blood rested upon his clothe.
It was only a matter of time before I learned what had happened. When my older cousin came, he held my brothers hands and cried. It was his words that scared me, “You could’ve been killed.” He cried through the tears of a broken heart. My cousin revealed to us the truth, and I knew of two things. First, if it wasn’t for my cousin, my brother would be dead. Second, whoever it was who did this would soon pay for what he had done. It shall never be forgiven.





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