I Was at recess, or maybe some kind of field day. I was at a prep school, Schola Cuniculum, somewhere north, possibly New York, during winter. Snow blanketed the ground. I was with my friends playing kickball when I heard a scream to the right side of me. When I glanced to my right, my best friend, Patrick, had fallen. Patrick had long, red hair and freckles. He had black glasses and an amazing sense of humor. As he slowly rose, he embraced his right hand in his left. Both of his hands were covered in blankets of thick blood. He left to go to the hospital, of which was many a miles away. He had to leave school premises, and cross the liberty bridge, and then he would just walk a little longer, and then be at the hospital. The Liberty Bridge is basically a floating block of cement with a road and sidewalk on top of it and large, pale green poles at the very top that form giant arches that cross and keep the bridge together. A group of students, such as Hailey, Josh, Kiante and tons others followed him, not closely behind. I had to catch up with Patrick, he was my best friend and he was hurt. When I was halfway in-between the mob of people following him and himself, we were on the bridge, not even a quarter of the way to the hospital. The pavement was very black and had sidewalks, these of which we were walking on. The metal structure above us was green and slightly rusted, but only where the paint had tattered or chipped off. Cars zoomed by us, not even stopping to look at the 13 year old 7th grader cradling his arm, blood soaking it. That’s when I hear Josh laugh behind me.
“Jacob,” he muttered with an ear to ear grin. A blur rushed past me and came side to side with Patrick. He had run so fast…
Jacob came to an abrupt halt, his blonde hair ceasing to fly in the wind. I had to catch up; I had to make sure Patrick was okay… I started into a run. But a slight crack in the cement under me caused me to tumble and fall on my face. I remember being scared and having the feeling that the bridge might crack, and I feared for my life, I didn’t want to fall into the water below. That’s the last I remember. I woke up, nose bleeding, probably an hour or two later, and I continued to follow the path to the hospital. Cars continued to zoom by, and none of my class mates were remotely close anymore. I walked through grass lands and plains, through the main town that I lived in, and An hour later, I arrived, tired and hungry, and I went to the front desk.
Around the front desk, the hospital was unclean, and dusty. The color of the walls was once white, but was now, and lightly tinted brown color.
“Where is Patrick Waters?” I yelled at the guy, whose brown eyes looked filled with joy, and would possibly constantly contain it, if there was no weirdo yelling at him. Beads of tears began at my eyes.
“Left hall, room eleven,” he said, a scared and vacant expression on his face, his back pressed up on the wall.
I wandered and limped down the hall to my left, when I soon found a room. The number on it was “10.” Next to it was 12. “Maybe it is all even numbers on this side,” I thought. But no, next to 12 was 13, and there was no 11 to be found at all. I searched everywhere, wandering up and down the aisles, right and left, until I had read every door in the hospital, and none had read 11.
Just then, Hunter Limberger, the youngest of the three brothers Hunter, Ethan, and Evan Limberger approached me from behind. His lightly brown hair shifted on his head as he halted next to me. The wavy dirty blonde hair matches his brown eyes, just a bit.
“Looking for Patrick?” He asked.
“How do you know Patrick?” I snapped back, confused. As far as I was concerned, they’d never met.
“He’s a friend.”
“Oh. Well, then, yes. Are you?”
He took a deep, longing breath.
