1954

“Parker, run!”

I grabbed his hand and began to run. He let go of my hand and ran alongside me. I wasn’t going to run without him. I wasn’t going to lose another person, not again.

I kept running as fast as I could, until he stopped running. I stopped in my tracks to nudge him along.

A loud bang of a gun rang throughout the air. Everything slowed around me.

Blood. I heard it running through my veins. I saw it spilling out of his.

I walked over to him, afraid to face my worst fear.

His eyes were bloodshot. His hands were cold. His skin was pale. His heart was slow. He was dead.

June 21, 1954