To see you there, your chest unmoving.
My heart began to quicken, a sweat beading down my forehead.
I ran to find him, to tell him you need help.
He said you were sleeping, everything was fine.
I denied his words, begging him to check.
He went inside, his pace quick.
He called your name.
Once.
Twice.
No reply, no movement.
He pulled you to the ground.
A thump sounded around the house.
I couldn’t watch you, I left the room.
I sat curled together, my eyes unfocused.
He yelled to me, pulling me back to the world.
To what was happening in the room over.
I went to see what I was needed for.
I was given the phone, 9-1-1 on the other line.
I had to give directions and say everything I’d seen.
Heard.
Smelled.
They arrived soon, and I hung up.
My body felt cold.
Lost.
Numb.
I stood out on the deck, away from the scents within.
Soon they arrived, sirens blaring.
Lights flashing.
Tires screeching.
I held the door for them, telling them where to go.
I called sister once they were inside.
I told her to hurry.
The ambulance left, you in the back of it.
She arrived soon, and we followed after it.
Silence in the car.
Tears flowing.
We knew what we hadn’t been told.
They took us into a small room.
It was cold.
Windowless.
They proved what we knew in our hearts.
Our minds.
You were gone.