F a c i n g R e a l i t y
“Nicole! I’m home!” I yelled to my twelve year old sister. I had just been dropped off by my friend from a long, hot soccer practice. Our coach had made us run 3 miles around the field, and because of that, I was exhausted. All I wanted was to take an ice cold shower and relax. My house, which was normally filled with the T.V. blaring, music playing, and people talking, was now oddly quiet. My parents were still at work, which would partially explain the almost uncomfortable silence, but Nicole should still be home. “Nicole?” I yelled again, having gotten no response from her the first time. That’s funny, I thought to myself. She was probably at a friend’s house or something. No need to worry. I climbed the stairs to take a shower, and that’s when I saw it. Coming from Nicole’s bedroom was a trail of red liquid. Paint? Juice? I thought. No. It was blood. Taking a shaky breath, I followed the trail, bracing myself for what I might see. Her bedroom window was completely shattered, and there was glass everywhere. The room was a total mess. Clothes and books were thrown everywhere, and there was even a huge dent in the wall. I scanned the rest of the room, and that’s when my heart almost stopped. Laying on the bedroom floor was Nicole, pale as a ghost, with a bullet hole through her head. My little sister, dead. No, this is not happening. It can’t be happening. Have you ever been so completely terrified that you couldn’t move? So afraid that all you can do is stand there, not able to think, not able to even cry out in horror? If you multiply that by ten, you could imagine how I felt at that moment. It is a feeling I am sure I will never forget. I could not pull my eyes away from Nicole, who I loved more than anything in the world, until the room started to spin, and everything went black.
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