꧁ Cʀᴏᴏᴋs: Bᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ʙʏ Bʟᴏᴏᴅ ꧂

3. Yᴏᴜ Tʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀ Gɪʀʟ

"Okay, Cynthia, it's your turn!"

Diane grabbed the chalk and redrew some of the faded lines on the concrete. I put one foot into the first hopscotch box, and made my way down the path. I got to seven and eight when I felt myself losing balance, and my foot reached out of the box.

Embarrassed, I walked over to the side to let my other friend go, when suddenly I remembered that my mom wanted me home at a certain time. I tapped Diane on the shoulder, since she was the only one with a watch in the group.

"Diane, what time is it?"

"9:57 PM."

Crap, she wants me home at 10PM. I had just enough time to make it inside without being too late. If I waited any longer and my mom found out, she would kill me. I couldn't risk going past the curfew just to play one more round of hopscotch.

As I started to get ready to go back home, I heard a loud bang that was freakishly close by. We all looked at each other, trying to figure out what that noise was. After sitting in silence for a second, we heard one more. This time, I knew
what it was.

Gunshots.

And they were coming from the apartment complex besides us. Suddenly, I get a feeling in my gut that something was wrong. Very wrong.

"I think I'm going to go home... I'll see you guys later." I murmured, waving to all of them as I made my way back inside.

I made it back to our apartment, but was hesitant to open the door. The feeling in my gut grew stronger, and the last thing I wanted to do at this point was open that door. Something in me was holding me back from doing it. I get bad gut feelings a lot, and they're not usually right, but this time felt different.

It's probably nothing, right? You're just paranoid, Cynthia. Nothing bad is going to happen.

I repeat that in my head, and I convince myself to just go inside. What's the worst that could possibly happen? It's not like my gut feelings are always right, anyways. I slowly turn the knob with hesitation, and open the door to an image that I will never be able to forget.

"Dad?" I whimpered, my heart grew heavier as I waited for a response, but instead, the sound of silence filled the room.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I walked closer to him, but I tried to block my mind from jumping to the worst possibilities.

Maybe he was just passed out? He's okay, right? Maybe this is all just a cruel joke.

I looked down at him lying stiff on the ground, covered in blood and bullet wounds. The worst possible scenario that I thought never would happen to me is happening right in front of my own eyes. I felt my heart shattering as I collapsed on to my knees. I nudged him, hoping he had some life still left in him.

"Please, please be okay, you're okay right?"

He didn't move, he felt completely cold to the touch. Someone or something killed my dad, and I'm left here having no clue what to do or even who it was. I felt so helpless. This was all my fault.

Maybe if I would've come home a couple of minutes earlier, he would still be here?

My throat gets tighter as the reality struck harder and harder. My voice is so shaky I can barely hear myself as I desperately tried to get a response from him. I know nothing is going to happen, I can't wake a dead person, but I can't help but try. My desperate attempts to bring my dad back are useless, and I find myself breaking down into an uncontrollable sob, screaming and wailing in a way I've never heard come out of my mouth before. It was the sound and feeling of true pain, a pain so unimaginable. The pain of loss.