Apr. 25th, 2013

[identity profile] sisterkenna.livejournal.com
I rushed to his bed when I heard and there he lay, his pale body filling his bandages with blood. The hypnotic scent filled the air but I brusquely pushed it from my mind. His pulse was faint, his skin almost as cold as mine. I whirled to see the nurse behind me. Call his family, I told her, using the Sanguine voice that came so easily to me now. I gave her their address.

I gently pulled my fingers through his fringe, combing out the knots. He had been filled with promise, that grubby little boy so keen to save his mother. Death seemed to haunt him, this poor boy. As I began to clean the blood from his face, the nurses looking at me strangely, my resolve hardened. No, I could not let him slip away. I blinked away the need to cry, concentrating on my task. His breathing was very faint, his expression drawn with pain. “Archie, I am here. Do not worry, everything will be alright. Your family will be here soon to see you and you and I are going to take a journey together. Be brave, dear, it will not be long now.” Hearing is the last sense to leave someone when they are unconscious. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw the creases in his brow smooth a little.

I continued to tidy him up until his parents arrived, his mother’s face stricken with worry. I explained as well as I could to them, not really aware of what I was saying. I left them with him, mentally preparing myself for what was to come. His father tenderly folded the sheet over his head before they left, his mother near hysterical with tears. The father thanked me for my help. Some useless words of condolence passed both ways.

I pronounced him dead then.


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