(Video Prompt)
The police were good for a great many things, being on time was not one of them. Jim knew, even before the phone dropped from his fingers that it was up to him to keep the rest alive.
The receiver hit the hardwood with a clutter that rang through the kitchen like thunder. It rolled, coming to a stop in a puddle of blood, blood that had once been inside Sarah, keeping her alive; Sarah lay beside the puddle, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes.
The Sunshine Home was supposed to be safe; that’s what they told people.
Somewhere in the house, someone screamed. But like the others, it lasted only as long as the knife-wielding maniac let it. Then there was silence once more.
How many was that now? Was there anyone left?
The blood carpeting the halls and the stairs were still warm beneath his feet. It soaked through his socks, the hem of his Spiderman pajama bottoms and caked his calves, red bracelets around tiny ankles.
“Come out; come out, wherever you are!” The childish taunt had once been fun, exciting even. Now it made his bowels soften.
But he had to get to the others.
“Help!” Jim recognized that voice.
Billy!
As best friends went, Billy wasn’t the greatest, but they were friends. Even if Billy never shared his dessert at lunch and hogged the basketball during gym. They were family; all the kids at Sunshine Home were family. It’s what kept them sane, kept them away from the nurses’ med cabinet.
I’m coming, Billy!
In that moment, as he tore headlong into the clutches of death unarmed to save a friend, he was invincible; he was Clark Kent, Peter Parker and Wolverine rolled into one. In his eight-year-old mind, he was unstoppable.
But in the end, he was just an eight-year-old boy against a monster. He was just one more number on a forgotten case file. He was just one more tombstone next to a thousand others. But Billy never forgot; Jim was the reason he was still alive.
By Airicka Phoenix The police were good for a great many things, being on time was not one of them. Jim knew, even before the phone dropped from his fingers that it was up to him to keep the rest alive.
The receiver hit the hardwood with a clutter that rang through the kitchen like thunder. It rolled, coming to a stop in a puddle of blood, blood that had once been inside Sarah, keeping her alive; Sarah lay beside the puddle, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes.
The Sunshine Home was supposed to be safe; that’s what they told people.
Somewhere in the house, someone screamed. But like the others, it lasted only as long as the knife-wielding maniac let it. Then there was silence once more.
How many was that now? Was there anyone left?
The blood carpeting the halls and the stairs were still warm beneath his feet. It soaked through his socks, the hem of his Spiderman pajama bottoms and caked his calves, red bracelets around tiny ankles.
“Come out; come out, wherever you are!” The childish taunt had once been fun, exciting even. Now it made his bowels soften.
But he had to get to the others.
“Help!” Jim recognized that voice.
Billy!
As best friends went, Billy wasn’t the greatest, but they were friends. Even if Billy never shared his dessert at lunch and hogged the basketball during gym. They were family; all the kids at Sunshine Home were family. It’s what kept them sane, kept them away from the nurses’ med cabinet.
I’m coming, Billy!
In that moment, as he tore headlong into the clutches of death unarmed to save a friend, he was invincible; he was Clark Kent, Peter Parker and Wolverine rolled into one. In his eight-year-old mind, he was unstoppable.
But in the end, he was just an eight-year-old boy against a monster. He was just one more number on a forgotten case file. He was just one more tombstone next to a thousand others. But Billy never forgot; Jim was the reason he was still alive.