In they come

Deathbed

Abraham was sore, he had been thrown out of the car when it hit, and as it exploded against the spintering telephone pole he had been shot up, onto the roof of the gun shop. That is where he lay now, with an aching back and legs that could barley move. He was helpless, he knew that the crash would've been loud enough for James and his mother to hear, but he was not sure if they would come. Although he was in pain, he was soon overcome by sleep.

He lay in the same spot over night, and got a good six hours of sleep. In the morning he got up, and saw that, in the middle of the grimy roof he had been sleeping on, was a hatch, leading down into the shop. He slowly raised his head, trying not to cut himself more than he had on the winsheild glass scattered around him. He lifted his back until he was on his hands and knee's, and slowly pulled himself to a standing position. The effort was killing him, and he felt like he could fall at any second, but he steeled his nerves and kept walking. He was three feet from the trapdoor, feeling slightly woosy, two feet, dots floating in and out of his vision, one foot, the ground rushed up at him as he passed out.

It was awful, a long, deep shout, followed by a boom, pulling him from his dark, painless relm of unconcious-ness, and killing him somewhere deep inside. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he swore. It was James, shouting, somewhere close. As adreniline coursed through his viens he jumped up, unaware of his stiff limbs, and flung open the sixty pound trapdoor like it was made of paper. He raced down the ladder and into the body of the gun shop stopping only to grab a pistol and shotgun from the small demonstration fiering range in the back, as he ran out he realized that they might not be loaded, but decided against going back when he heard another noise, a scream, this time he was sure it was his mother. He quickened his pace, running full tilt twards the sound. Something was burning, he could see the smoke over the trees, and soon something came into view, it was James slumped over next to a small figure, now no more than ashes, with the carcass of  a car smoldering next to them. As Abraham jogged over, he realized who the figure was, and tears started streaming from his eyes. Abraham didn't cry, as a rule, but when he saw his mother, his own mother, lying there, helpless, on the ground, he couldn't stop, he felt worse than he had ever felt, stopping only when there was nothing left, and then he was done, he knew it. There would be no more crying, not about his mother, not about anything.