Hi guys! So we're starting off with some Modern Ralbert! You Shine is a song produced by the Musical Carrie, so If you like the song this is a good one shot for you to read...
Sit back and relax! Sorry, I'm not the best story writer!!!
Triggers: Blood, light cussing
" If you could see, the way that you look to me
I bet that you'd be amazed at the sight
you'd see a heart that's fearless and true
from my point of view, oh you shine."
You Shine. The song was played continuously, it was getting to the point where it was getting annoying. Minute after minute, hour after hour, that song played, not only over radio stations, speakers through the dance studio, and sung by every other dancer, it had been stuck in Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins mind. He didn't per-say like the song, but he didn't dislike it either, it just had been played so often that he got sick of it, and wanted it to stop.
Race had been walking down an alleyway of Manhattan, New York, towards his apartment at around 10:00 pm. Dance had just let out, and he was tired, but also overall ecstatic. It was dark outside, the pitch black sky, with beautiful smatterings of stars everywhere, it also was a calm night. He continued his path down the alleyway when he heard a small cry for help, it was a man's voice. He stopped straight in his tracks and listened for the ever so silent cry, it once again started up, and Race could tell it was coming from a nearby park bench. Filled with curiosity, Race walked over to the figure on the bench.
The boy on the bench looked around Race's age, he was hunched over clenching his abdomen. Race quickly picked up the pace and began jog-walking over to the bench. The boy in pain had red hair, and he was holding his stomach. "Hey man, are you okay?" Race asked as he sat down next to the boy, he genuinely hoped that the boy was okay.
The redhead looked over at Race, pain in his eyes. He lifted up his shirt, and there on his abdomen, a big gash had been in the middle. Race's mouth dropped, he didn't notice the boy's bloodstained t-shirt, which the boy was using to put pressure on his wound. "I-I need h-help...please.." The boy had said through gasps of air, Race immediately grabbed his sweatshirt out of his dance bag and pressed it on the tear, pushing down on it. He grabbed his phone and dialed 9-1-1, and waited for the responder to pick up. "Pick up, pick up!" He mumbled to himself as the click, signifying that they had picked up.
"911 what's your emergency?" The responder asked, as trained. It was a girl.
"Hello, I'm here with a boy, around the age of 15-25, he has a big cut on his stomach, and I think he's losing consciousness." Race said quickly, looking over at the boy who had his eyes now closed. Race licked his lips, a nervous habit.
"Okay, sir, where are you? Is he breathing? If you ask him something is he responding? What is your callback number?" The dispatcher asked
"Were in an alley, by Central Grove Park on the corner of Mince and Monroe Street," he said, getting up and checking the boy's pulse, he couldn't find it. "I can't find a pulse," he laid his head on the boy's chest to listen for a heartbeat, he heard it. "I can hear the heartbeat," he said putting a hand on the boy's face. "Hey, can you hear me? Stay with me, okay?" Race said in a calm, soothing voice, trying to get a response. There was no response. "No response. My number is xxx-xxx-xxxx." race said trying to find the boy's pulse once more.
"Okay, our emergency unit will be at that location as soon as possible. Tell me what exactly happened." the dispatcher said, calling another number on a different line. "Central Grove Park, Manhattan, New York. Consciousness unknown. Has pulse. Bleeding uncontrollably. Won't respond." the dispatcher said into the other phone to the EMT squad who was already out the door and in the ambulance.
