Lights are coming in every direction..
I hear sirens..
I hear voices..
I hear my mind struggling to process what I see..


All of this happened in a single moment..

I am crouched here, stunned and paralyzed by fear creeping in every vein inside me.

Then I see it, I see him..

Lying lifeless on the asphalt, limp and stained of blood all over. Face deeply lined and old.. the man I helped cross the street, the man that pushed me out of the road, out of danger with his cane, the man who first saw the reckless truck speeding though the light says red.. the old man who saved my life..

I cry.
I cry silently, overwhelmed by the scene.
I cry until I hear someone crying more silently than me,
I cry until I see not a someone, but a boy, a boy grieving for his papa, silently and peacefully, like though acceptance was a one minute process to absorb.

Then they start taking care of me, lifting me from the ground and checking every part of me..
But I don’t care..
I don’t care if I’m fine or not..
I don’t care if I’m traumatized and I can hardly breathe..
I don’t care about anything but the desperation eating inside me, needing to plead to the boy to forgive me for taking a man in his life..
But they won’t let me go..
And I start to protest when I see his shadow..

“Calm down, my old man is fine.. He was a soldier, but dying of cancer, and loathes himself for dying just because of some freaking poisonous cells, he’s a good man and you’ve done him a favor..

You saved him.”

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