I had been sitting on the floor for fifteen minutes. The
dark red liquid was slowly staining my white shirt. I attempted to slow the
bleeding down by applying pressure to my side, but the sharp pain that filled
my entire body was enough to make me stop. Why was I slowing down the inevitable?
I was going to die here anyways. It was probably best that I died sooner rather
than later.
I looked up at the mahogany coffee table. On it, sat a small
silver frame that contained a picture of me in my youth and my father. After my
mother had died, he was all I had left. It was a shame that my questionable lifestyle
prohibited me from visiting or talking to him.
You haven’t seen your loved ones for months now.
My summers were
filled with memories of my father. He took me out to the lake near my house everyday.
It was there where he taught me how to fish. I remember the first time I had
ever caught a fish. I couldn’t have been older than seven. I remember the sense
of pride that I felt when my dad congratulated me.
Those were
nothing but memories now.
Image:
http://www.picalls.com/data/media/13/Black_and_white_lake.jpg
