(Flash Fiction Challenge For Aspiring Writers)
I was twelve years old that night. It was hot and the mosquitoes buzzed around my bare shoulders and back. I was covered with small, itchy welts. My bike was old and the front tire mostly flat, but peddling was faster than walking or even running, and the mosquitoes only bit when I slowed or stopped.
My brother, Josiah, had been in fight and he had hit the boy and the boy fell hard against a concrete statue in our yard and his head had cracked open and some of his brains were leaking out. I was sent to fetch the village doctor, in hopes the boy could be stitched back together and saved.
As I sat on my bicycle and looked down the street, wondering, in the moonlit night, which house the doctor lived in, I could hear sirens off in the distance. Police sirens. And I knew. They were coming for my brother.
And I missed him already.
Photo provided by Maria at Maria@Scribbles and Doodles
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