Sounding the Seventh trumpet

Prologue: 01

Prologue: 01

It’s raining, a boy who looks to be in his late teens early twenties walks out of the gate for a college. He is wearing a white zip up hoodie with a gray lining inside, there is a pair of black headphones covering his ears, and he is also wearing jeans, a black messenger bag, and black converse. His hair is platinum blonde and reaches up to his chin; he has two different colored eyes, his left is sky blue and his right is lime green, and he is fairly pale.

He walks to the curb of the sidewalk before he looks at his wristwatch and notices the time. He starts crossing when he starts to hear the brakes of a car go off, by the time he looks at wear it is coming from he is hit. He rolls over the top of the car and hits the pavement. His ears are ringing, his sides hurt and the world around him seems to be spinning. He coughs and blood comes poring out of his mouth. It soundly gets harder for him to breathe. The boy who was driving the car is now by his side screaming something, but he cannot hear him. He looks at his mouth as the boy repeats his word over and over again. His lips form the words “are you alright”. He shakes his head no, as his vision starts to fade in and out. When the boy lays his head back down onto the floor he notice the large crowd of people on their cell phones seeming to call the police for help. He tries to stay awake to see if they come but his eyelids are to heavy and all his body wants to do is sleep, so he gives in and closes his eyes.

He hears the constant beeps from a heart monitor as he wakes up. He opens his eyes and lets his eyes adjust to the light. When they do he notices that he is no longer in his close but in a hospital gown. There is an air regulator on his mouth, a needle in his arm that is connected to an IV, bandages around his ribs, and electrodes are placed on the upper part of his chest. He sits up slowly and takes the mask off and drops it to the floor. His close are on a chair next to the bed folded, with his bag leaning on the chairs side.

He slowly starts to pull the needle from his arm and tries to make sure his heart beat stays regulated, so it doesn’t send off an alarm to every doctor in the building. He finally pulls the needle out, and lays it next to his arm. “You’re a lucky man Mr. Clarke,” a female voice says. He turns his head to the left to notice that it is a nurse. She young, probably still a student, she has light brown hair, copper brown eyes, and looks to be Hispanic.

“Yea, seems to look that way, doesn’t it,” he says in response.

“Where are you going,” she asks him as she steps back towards the door.

“I’m leaving,”

“You should be resting-”

“I’m fine-”

“You were hit by a car that was going 50 miles per hour. You shouldn’t be able to walk. Actually from past history you shouldn’t even be alive, at most you should be in a coma or a vegetable, but here you are looking like you just slept through a cold.”

“Yea, well I got lucky.” He says as he pulls the electrodes of his chest causing the heart monitor to react as if he died. The nurse moves away from the door and stops the alarm. While she is turning off the heart monitor he jumps off the bed and gets dressed really quickly.

“You’re not leaving,” she said as she bolted back in front of the door. He slips his shirt on and puts his sweater on real quickly and throws his bag over him. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re not leaving,” she says with frustration. Then she gets a calm look upon her face. “You can’t leave you don’t have your gun.” He grabs the side of his bag and checks to see if it is in his holster. It is missing.

“Where is it?” She pulls out a HK USP from her side. “Its fell out when they brought you in.” she said as she handed him the gun. “Tell me, why would a healthy 24 year old need to carry a gun?” curiosity poured out of her mouth with every word.

“It’s for protection, nothing else.”

“Alright,” she seems to take it as a fair answer but her motions and expression says other wise.

“Tell me Ms.” He looks closer at the nametag. “Ms. Montenegro why do you care what I do?”

“A child survives a fire that destroys the entire building, and yet the child walked out of the front door with nothing wrong with it except some smoke inhalation. Tell me where that child stands now?”

“That fire is about as old as me. How would I know?”

“Because you’re looking at that child. Witnesses, firefighters, and police officers all remember me as the young girl who walked out of hell and have no problems.”

“Let me guess, you did have problems.”

“The smell of burning flesh, the screams of neighbors, friends and family doesn’t leave you, it just goes into rest.”

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be, now go, and you can always find me here, if you need to talk.”

“Alright,” he says as she moves away from the door and he walks out. “Hey,” he says pausing and turning back to her. “Have a nice rest of the day.”

“Yea,” she says with a smile, “you too.”