by Ryan Rinsler
Oh my god, Matt. She got Matt.
Everything stopped.
He reached out his arm to try and help him, to do anything, but he fumbled. He watched helplessly as the room slowly began to spin, until eventually hitting the floor in a crumpled heap, his head banging hard on the oak.
“Oh my god, Connor!” screamed Kate, her hands covering her mouth.
He lay on his back, vision unmoving, eyes fixed on the wooden beams that spanned the ceiling. He followed the lines, examining the joints and the craftsmanship, but as Matt and Jacob ripped open his t-shirt, darkness began filling his eyes.
He could sense Kate was a wreck, hearing her crying and wailing as Jacob attempted to stem the flow of blood from Connor’s chest.
“Put your hand on his neck, hard!” shouted Jacob, his voice becoming more distant with every word, even as he was screaming for Kate to get medical supplies.
“We’re losing him!” shouted Matt. “Oh my god! Oh my god! So much blood!”
“Don’t stop!” shouted Jacob. “Stay with us, son,” he said, calmly looking into Connor’s eyes. “I’ve got you.”
“Aren’t you gonna call an ambulance?” shouted Matt. “He’s dying here!”
“It won’t be here in time,” said Jacob, wrestling with Connor’s twitching body.
And then Connor relaxed. A warm feeling spread throughout his body, making him sink into the floor as he would sink into a the most comfortable, warm bed on a cold winter’s morning, his whole body numb, his legs heavy.
Jacob gently placed two fingers on his neck.
“Oh, god!” cried Kate, dropping to her knees in floods of tears. Matt grabbed her arm tightly, his tearful eyes looking to Jacob in desperation. Jacob wasn’t fighting the bleeding anymore, now simply holding his son in his arms as he drifted away.
“It’s OK, son,” he said softly, his red, bloodied hands shaking with grief and shock as they brushed Connor’s hair from his forehead.
Connor looked into his eyes one last time.
And then, black.
