I tried to search for words, but couldn't find any. My mouth remain in what felt like an "O" shape, but how could I ever be really sure what an "O" looks like.
"What's going on, Andrews?" I finally asked, "Why'you being like this?"
I listened for movement, but Andrews didn't shift an inch. I outstretched my arm to find his chest, but when I placed my hand down, it was wet. Sticky. Cold. Blood-like.
"Andrews?" I cried, my mind racing, thoughts cartwheeling around.
Panic exploded in me, and I felt a sudden heat flush through my body. My hand was shaking violently, trying to find the wound. Until I felt an icy-cold metal object penetrating his stomach. I fingered around for this handle of what I assumed was a knife. I clenched my fist around it and vigorously removed it. Chucking the weapon aside, I felt the salty liquid pouring from my eyes. Tears of anger. Tears of sadness. Tears of love. I scampered my arms all over, trying for a pulse. But it was no use. What could I do anyway?
"No" I whispered faintly, wrapping my arms around his round belly. I rested my head on it, blood now smeared on my cheek.
Why? Was the question I kept asking myself. What was going on? Why was Andrews dead?!
I rubbed my fingers on the note again, trying my very best. Until I uncover the impossible. The words:
I'M SORRY MY BOY, BUT THIS IS THE END. I'M OLD AND ILL, AND MY TIME HAS COME. GOODBYE MILES.
ANDREWS
