We three (Incomplete)

IV - Looking for the ones you love

Tristan stood with all the might his little body could manage. There was blood all over him. In his hair, in his eyes and anis teeth, caked in blood both dry and wet. It scared him, "Was it okay to bleed this much?" He thought. "Mummy would be worried about me". He squoze his little fists in pain with every step, tears rolling down his face, dissapearing into more blood. "Mummy! Where are you?" He whailed. Nothing. Just the sounds of the beeping cars and distant sirens screaming in the air. Tristan didn't care about that, he just wanted mummy, he was alone. He held his head between his palms and sobbed. Quiet under the sounds of the beeping cars. Quiet under the sounds of the screaming sirens.

The beeping stopped and everyone started at him, the bloody child alone at the beginning of the road, bloody head to toe. Nobody moved, nobody helped him, they just watched him in their little metal boxes, with their curious glaring eyes. He didn't like it, he wanted them to stop, he wanted them to go away, he wanted to see his mummy. They didn't. Only the flashing white truck came to him, people in all white ran toward him, it hurt his eyes, though it hurt everywhere so what did it matter to him? It hurt so bad, so bad that he just kept crying. He cried so much he thought all the water would run out in his body. These all-white people took him to their van. shining painful lights in his eyes and asking him questions that hurt is brain. "Are you alright little man?" The woman asked.

"I want mummy." Tristan demanded, with all the power his hurting body could handle.

"My friends are looking for your mummy now. We need to make sure you're alright." She replied. "What's your name little man?"

He felt as if a brick had just been lifted off his chest. He took a big deep breath and counted to 5, like mummy always told him to when he got scared. "Don't worry Trist." She used to say "Whenever your scared, just take a deep breath and count to 5."

"Five."

The all-white men shuffled around the wreckage, there were no fires, so they checked what was left of the RV for the boys parents.

"Four."

They brought out a bolt-cutter and tore the front door off the vehicle. There was inaudible shouting between them.

"Three."

They climbed into the hole they made, as 2 men with a stretcher came sprinting to them.

"Two."

An all-white man grabbed something. An arm. And pulled it.

"W-"

Tristan looked over and saw the all-white man turn red and fall on his back, holding a dismembered arm in his hands.

Tristan screamed. He ran from the ambulance, pushing past the all-white woman, and tripped, falling face first into the tarmac, more blood pouring out his nose. But he got up and continued to run. 

He stopped dead, silent, as they pulled what was left of his mother out of the vehicle. It was dragged out by an arm, the other in the hands of the white and red man, his face empty and blotched with blood. Its eye socket was broken and the left eye drooped out of its skull. Its clothes had been torn apart by the jagged pole sticking out of its stomach and the legs were mangled, leaving any trace that it was ever completly human. Tristan ran, again, to his mothers corpse and pushed his head into its cut-up chest. "MUMMY!" He screamed, and continued to scream until his little throat gave out. The all-white woman ran to him. Pulling him off what used to be his mother, cursing at the white and red man. He was dragged away, kicking and cackling from his worn out throat. The all-white men picked up the corpse and carried her onto the stretcher, taking her away from him.