Asher

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Asher's morning shift at the gas station had been unusually slow. The store was mostly empty, the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the silence. His mind kept drifting back to the events of the previous day: his panic attack, the strange encounter with Matthew at the mall, and the concerned look on Ethan's face. He still felt shaken by it all, the memory of Matthew's cold, calm demeanor lingering in his thoughts.

The chime of the entrance door pulled him from his reverie. Asher looked up to see William entering the store. The 12-year-old was a regular, often stopping by for a pack of Sour Patch Kids on his way to school. Today, though, William looked different. His light brown hair was messy, his blue eyes were dull and tired, and his skin was unusually pale.

"Morning, Will," Asher greeted, trying to keep his tone light. "You're looking a bit rough today. Everything okay?"

William gave a small nod, but his expression was strained. "Yeah... just didn't sleep well last night," he mumbled, heading straight for the candy aisle.

Asher watched him closely, noticing the way William swayed slightly on his feet. The kid grabbed a pack of Sour Patch Kids, but there was no joy in his movements. Asher's concern grew as William slowly made his way to the counter.

"You sure you're okay?" Asher asked again, leaning forward to get a better look at him. "You look really tired, man."

William shrugged, placing the candy on the counter. "I'll be fine," he said, though his voice was weak. "Just need to rest, I guess."

Asher glanced at the clock. It was still early, and the streets were quiet. He looked back at William, who seemed to be struggling to stay upright. Asher made a quick decision.

"Hey, Will," he said softly, "how about I walk you home? It's not too far, and you shouldn't be out here alone if you're not feeling well."

William hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of needing help. But after a moment, he nodded. "Okay... Thanks, Ash."

Asher locked up the store and grabbed his jacket, leading William outside. The morning air was crisp and cool, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. As they walked, Asher kept a close eye on William, who seemed to be getting worse with every step.

They were halfway to William's house when the boy suddenly stumbled, clutching his stomach. Asher quickly reached out to steady him.

"Hey, take it easy," Asher said, his voice laced with worry. "You don't look good at all. Maybe we should take a break."

William nodded weakly, leaning against a nearby lamppost. He closed his eyes, taking deep, shaky breaths. Asher stood by his side, unsure of what to do. He'd never seen William like this before, so vulnerable and fragile.

As they rested, Asher noticed a truck approaching from down the road. It was moving slowly, almost too slowly, as if the driver was unsure of where they were going. The sight made Asher uneasy, a chill running down his spine.

He turned back to William, who was looking even paler than before. "Will, maybe we should just call your parents or something. This doesn't seem right—"

Before he could finish his sentence, William's eyes widened in horror. "Asher! Look out!" he shouted, his voice hoarse and desperate.

Asher turned just in time to see the truck suddenly speed up, barreling toward them with terrifying speed. His heart leaped into his throat, panic freezing him in place. But before he could react, William lunged forward, shoving Asher out of the way with all his strength.

Asher hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He heard the screech of tires, and the sickening thud of metal hitting flesh. Time seemed to slow as he scrambled to his feet, his eyes searching for William.

But the boy was lying in the road, motionless. The truck sped off, disappearing around the corner without stopping.

Asher rushed to William's side, his hands trembling as he reached out to him. "Will, no... no, no, no!" he cried, tears blurring his vision. He could see blood pooling beneath William's head, his eyes staring blankly up at the sky.

Asher's mind raced, panic and disbelief coursing through him. He pulled out his phone, fumbling to dial 911. "Please, someone help!" he shouted into the phone, his voice breaking. "A kid's been hit by a truck! He's not breathing! Please hurry!"

As he waited for the ambulance to arrive, Asher couldn't shake the image of the truck speeding away. Whoever had been driving hadn't made a mistake—they had done this on purpose. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, a mix of fear and anger boiling up inside him.

Why would someone do this? Why would they target William, a 12-year-old boy? Asher couldn't understand it, but he knew one thing for sure: this wasn't an accident.

Wait, Will pushed me. The driver's original target was me.

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It's my fault that Will is dead....

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