Time froze as the first bullet shot from her hand. The motion was slow as he could hear the swirls and wind prods the lead alloy through the bleakness and the darkness swallowed them all. It was a wonder for him to see it—listening was the finest of his abilities to that night while cuddling his boy as he oscillates.
The scene was out the ordinary opposed to that of the newly trimmed lawn and the smell of the rain washing away the horrendous pain. It was the day of the harvest and something animated people from around the small town. Ben lived two doors down from the Grey residence and he seemed to think that singing soulfully to a chorus from out of the Cassette tape to Toto’s Africa, was to caterwaul tunelessly. They say rain brings nothing but gloomy days but from around here; it blocked the drains from heavy cement and debris filling up from the factories on Main Street.
Her pain shrieked the neighbourhood awake and yet not a living soul busted door or rang up the cops. Then again, reserved areas were thought to be secured. But this was Keene, New Hampshire. Elijah turned to rush and out of the blue, another fired into the sky, making the boy scream in pain. Then came another shot and this time a bit too close. His crying was a peirce to the shuddering of his father and collapsed to the damped grass. Ben was not worthy of a hundred dollars for a rugged cut. The grass scraped his knees to a cut—glass fragments from his third drink of Berliner? I Hardly Know Her!
“Julian?” he asked.
He turned his body to the side of his thigh and away from the wetness. He ran his palms over the boys body frantically all while watching her from under his eyelids. It was like her screaming came to a halt and Whitney; his ex-wife’s complaints of the night were tuned out. He felt the first drop collide with his skin in contrast to the millions falling from the sky. There was a difference in the taste and the way it moved. The saltiness of his tear felt to drown him while the rain droplets were Gods ways of cleansing the blood running out of his boy and the woman, he loved steps away to the end of the property fighting for her last breath. It’s time like this on a predicament of playing favorites or a game of Who’s significant to my life? He’s just a man with two arms and a body that could only secure one life.
Another shot fired and his arms circled the tiny waist in an attempt to save him. He turned his back and hunched over in a rupture to his spine.
“Julian! Baby stay with me,” she sobbed.
Her hands gripped the shred of the devil’s blades and the agonizing lift of her torso forced her to the ground. Her eyes wrinkled the skin around it in the press of her flesh down to shield the pain and not witness her two-year accepting the angels invitation to the white gates. But it was her hand traveling south to the warm wet patch of a hole so deep it tore right through her that she felt her blood spew. She applied her hand to the wound and pressed down to loosens the knots and deal with the cramps. It felt to burn around the rim and simultaneously drain the warmth from her body to pale her caramel skin.
Elijah dropped his forehead to the ground as he pushed the boy deeper into his torso reciting a hasty prayer when his fragile hand caressed his father’s cheek and shone that once in a lifetime grin he’d been trained to do. It was difficult for him to pull the corners up in the curve his father did. To master Bob Gray’s childish grin and he stole the makeup kit from behind his mother’s back before he drew the last bend to around his eyes and smeared the bloody lipstick to her vanity. But as he draws his last breath, he masters all gifts and joys of being in his father’s arms. The gurgles were of a surprise and brought a smile to Elijah—one that did not reach his eyes. He brought him closer to his ear and pressed kisses to his cheek taking in the iron from out his mouth.
“Nana?” he slurred.
Elijah’s heart aches and so did his lover as they share the last words of their sons plead for food. Just as his head dropped against his father’s chest and his grip slackened from around his shirt, Whitney bellowed an order and strikes the gun to Zoella’s head. She was too scared to scream or to wake her sleeping baby to his way upward and the last thing she wanted was for him to witness her death on their lawn at two in the morning. She should’ve locked the doors. Or called Elijah home early after rinsing Julian off and sliding him into a SpongeBob onesie. But then the wind smacked the window and the rain thundered like the heavy footsteps crushing into the hardwood floors downstairs. She tried to run and grab him but it was too late. He stood in the arms of the woman from the cafè and had a spur of tears running.
Then came the man with the heavy arm and body from what the time of the gym had offered. They were three? Maybe four and all were bald. They grabbed her and Julian and shoved them into the grass when a car pulled up. The black—at first sight was Elijahs returning home from the clinic and he jumped to knee the men unconscious. The gun was cold around her skin and the white stroke of an ending life flashed before her eyes before she closed them and noticed the dizzy black stars roam her eyes. Whitney’s heels pressed into her leg and tore the flesh when the finger guarding the life of Zoella Bernard and Julian Grey, disengaged.