Rosie's P. O. V.
It began like any other day. I was in the midst of my long walk home from school when I came across a peculiar being that cause me to stop in my tracks. I was passing the town's public park where small kids and toddlers were being pushed on swings while the older kids were playing tag and doing God knows what. Now normally, I wouldn't have taken a second glance at the park filled with children and their families, but the odd, out of place thing that had me stop in my tracks was Kyle Acton.
Kyle was the "it" boy at my high school. He had nearly everything anyone could've wanted. He had money, the perfect image, great looks, a decent number of friends, and of course the attention of the entire female population. His family was one of the richest in town, and possibly the whole province. Kyle's father was a very successful business lawyer and investigator. He made millions of dollars just for one case. The Acton family lived on a private estate just outside town that everyone wished they could be invited to enter. The Actons had parties that mostly consisted of higher class successful people that wanted to build connections with other successful people. I had heard rumours that the family weren't exactly close and were only together for public appearances, at least that's what everyone who knows them thinks. I knew the family wasn't perfect, but at least they were a family.
So basically, Kyle was the last person I had expected to see pushing a young girl on a swing in the town's park with sounds of laughter radiating from both of them. She looked to be around thirteen, with long wavy hair that looked similar to his short light hair. I didn't think too much of it, and was about to continue on my journey home when suddenly a loud, piercing scream filled the air followed by a gunshot. Naturally, my head whipped towards the noise immediately. Lying on the ground in front of the swing-set was Kyle. His younger sister hovered above him; her eyes filled with tears.
Pushing my annoying glasses up the bridge of my nose, I sprinted towards the scene. I threw my backpack and books onto the ground before I kneeled beside Kyle's younger sister and carefully examined Kyle's severely injured body. The bullet entered just beneath his shoulder and he was losing blood fast.
"Open my bag and grab the box inside." I told the girl quickly as I began to apply pressure to the wound. "There should be a first aid kit, grab it quickly and open it."
She frantically grabbed my bag and struggled to pull the zipper before I lightly nudged her shoulder. "It's okay, just calm down. I just need to get the bullet out or else he'll continue to lose more blood. He's going to be okay."
The girl took deep breaths as she slowly unzipped the zipper of the bag and dug out the first aid kit I kept in my bag just in case something like this happened. I was in training to be a doctor and in order to insure that I was going to succeed; I had been taking private lessons at the university once a week. I was trained in C. P. R. and was qualified to do what I was about to do to Kyle.
"In the kit," I began. "There is a knife—"
"What?!" The girl cut me off. "You're going to cut him?!"
I internally rolled my eyes. "No, I'm going to cut the tissue around his wound and then use the tweezers to pull the bullet out. Oh, and there's also alcohol too."
The girl looked at me like I was crazy, but still pulled out the necessary equipment I needed to continue. "It's going to be okay, Kyle." I whispered into his ear gently and soothingly, hoping to calm him down. I could tell he was terrified, his hands were shaking and his eyes were wild. I twisted open the bottle of alcohol and leaned back down to his ear. "This is going to hurt a lot. Take my hand, okay?"
He gave a quick nod before grabbing my hand in his and began to squeeze. It hurt inside me to see him in pain. Usually at school, his eyes would be bright and vibrant and always cheerful. Now, they were filled with pain and fear. I poured alcohol on the wound and he let out a hard grunt as his hand squeezed mine so tightly I feared he might've broken it. Soon as the alcohol was poured, I moved his hand so that it was squeezed his sister's as I pressed a cloth onto the wound. After dabbing it a few times, I told the girl to hand me the tweezers and knife.
"This is going to hurt even worse, but I'll try to be quick as I can." I promised. "You're doing great."
I turned to the girl. "Call 911," I told her. "My phone's in the front pocket of the bag."
And then I began to dig inside Kyle's bullet wound in search for the bullet as she dialled the number. His yelps of ache pained my heart. I hated to hear him scream. I hated him being in pain. After digging for the bullet, I finally found it and pulled it out, and then immediately pressed the bloody cloth against the open gash.
I held the cloth there as I checked Kyle's eyes to see if he was responsive, but to my dismay, he passed out from the pain. I sighed in tiredness as I continued to apply pressure until the ambulance came to take him to the hospital. My hands were covered in Kyle's blood. I wasn't squeamish at the sight of blood, but seeing his blood in particular on my hands made me want to throw up.
"Thank you." The girl whispered as she stroked her older brother's hair. "Thank you so much."
