Second week in a row! Thanks to Susan at Sunday Photo Fiction and Fandango for the pic!
“They were dying. Blood soaked the ground as bullets riddled bodies. The cries, the moans, and then the worst thing, the silence.” He’s repeated the same words I read in his journal. My heart stills with recognition of his relapse.
His grip on my hand tightens to the extent that I think he’ll break my fingers. Suddenly he looks at me, as if seeing me for the first time.
“You’re here. You shouldn’t be here. If something happened to you—”
“You’re home, Dylan.”
His breathing is still ragged. I squeeze his hand wondering what brought on the episode.
I look down, as we walk along the path, see the crepe myrtle petals bleed blood red across the asphalt.