Rosy Cheeks

Bleeding Heart

Chapter 1:

On the shining summer road with dozens of flashing lights coming from passing cars, Nevaeh Williams checked her husband's pulse, and stood there for a good hour, checking it over and over again. She didn't know how she got there. She stood there, staring straight into her husband's brown bark eyes, believing he would come back eventually if she had an emotional  and intense enough stare. Looking down to her feet with her heart sinking deeper into her chest, she thought of giving up.

She rubbed her cold, dead hands then looked at the pool of blood under her, causing her to wonder if she did this. Her head spun, and she felt sick to her stomach at the thought that her husband, the man she had loved for four years, might have died from her own doing. His iron-rust colored blood pervaded the air and it desecrated the road, with the sun's shine briefly bringing notice to it to onlookers. His dimpled cheeks became hollow as an empty gun and his mouth when she called his name, Jordan, would remain closed.

A rush of tears started to slide down on her face as she held onto his cheeks, trying to figure out why they lost that unforgettable pink fadeless color?

She had several things that she needed to do: 1. Make funeral arrangements. 2. Find lawyers and accountants. 3. Contact banks. 4. Delete internet history. 5. And look at his will.

But how would she explain his death? ¨As a heart attack, as suicide, as a murder,¨ she thought as she looked at Jordan's body. Could it be suicide? No, he wasn't that sort of person. Heart attack? No, he ate healthy and did not eat pork, adhering to the black panthers' party rules and guidelines.

She saw how lifeless his eyes looked, knowing that someone must have taken his life, as she geared in closer to open his narrow eyelids. Her pants cooked in the summer heat, as sweat encumbered her body. As she looked down, she noticed her pants soaked in the color of love. But this description of this color wasn't as positive, this time, it was the color of blood, the same color as Jordan's rosy cheeks. She took the body inside, and kept it away, protecting it.

She went inside her bathroom and she folded her arms, narrowed her eyes. She yawned in frustration, as she looked at herself in the dusty damaged mirror, preparing to call the police. She usually didn't associate with the police for various reasons, including black police brutality. "We believe we can end police brutality in our black community by organizing black self-defense groups that are dedicated to defending our black community from racist police oppression and brutality. The Second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States gives a right to bear arms. We therefore believe that all Black people should arm themselves for self-defense." She often remembered her dad and her husband saying this, reciting it like it's the most important thing in the world!

She might have killed somebody- that was a huge possibility and if she called, who was guilty? Her. Who had all the evidence stacked up against them? Her. Who had blood on their clothes? Her. For every single trial, she would be a young, twenty-five-year-old black girl, not a woman, who killed her baby daddy or boo out of vengeance and regret. Even though her husband's family might never learn their son is alive, she couldn't report this. She would be sending herself to jail, or even worse, the electric chair.

She dialed the number 911 and waited for a response.

The buzz left her irritated and anxious. She had to do this despite her aliefs. This was for Jordan, not her. It didn't matter who or what happened because no matter what, it was for him. At his death, he would've wanted to be like a precious flower or tree that his younger siblings and relatives can always visit. He didn't want to hide. He wanted freedom as he returned and gave himself to the earth.

"911, what's the address of your emergency?" they said, as she felt the blood from her pants seeping into her nails.

She didn't respond and was silent for more than one minute. For a second she cried, but stopped, because she knew if she cried, she wouldn't stop.

And they asked, "Is this your emergency or is someone else in trouble? What is your relation to them, ma'am? We are required by law to track your phone, miss, and come visit you. If this is a prank, you would be reprimanded severely. We are coming now, miss."

For the second question, she realized that Jordan wasn't her husband yet. They were only engaged. It was an on-again, off-again relationship, that started in high school. And that fact, she was the least proud of. She responded by being silent then got into her car, and drove off into the distance, going to the nearest forest, leaving nothing behind.