Painted Red

2

Seconds have passed. Something isn't right. She isn't there. I see my brother instead, in the same spot where she was, just a while ago. He is shot... in his right chest. I'm confused. I stand there, motionless. It seems like an eternity has passed.

I snap myself back into my senses. I notice an ambulance passing by and try to get its attention. It's all in vain. My eyes are filled with tears. I try to get any passing vehicle to stop for help. None of them stop. Am I invisible? Can they not see me?

I run to him. I'm not sure what is happening. I hold him and want to help him, but I'm not sure what to do. He is bleeding profusely. I can't carry him, for he is too big. He is conscious. He isn't sinking. He isn't talking. I'm unable to talk. I shake him like a lunatic. He gazes at me, and promises that he will visit a hospital. He forces me to leave.

I get home. I wait for him. I've lost all hope. I'm convinced that he died.

We were all supposed to go out for dinner. His flight is in a few days. He could be dead, but all that is on our minds is the dinner. 

He gets home. He never went to a hospital. He looks fine though. The bullet wound has been cleaned up. There is no blood, but I see a scar. The wound has healed itself up, but the bullet is still inside him. I'm being driven to madness. The thought that the bullet might have punctured his right lung is unsettling and nerve-racking. I appear calm, unable to vocalise how I truly feel. He might die any moment now. If only I could go back and stop this from ever happening.