I woke groggily and pulled myself out of bed. What time is it? I checked the clock and it read 8:10 AM. Great. Wasn't late for work. I brushed my teeth before walking out of the bathroom and tripping on a pizza box. Wow. The guys really made a mess. How many beer bottles were on the floor? Couldn't count how many. Or was I too lazy? That was probably it. Tristan and his friends drank way too much. Was it really that great of a game? Probably not. Did they just not have anything better to do with their lives? Bingo.
I went to grab some breakfast when I stumbled across the note. Tristan wrote it. When I read it carefully, my worries started surfacing and I hoped he was okay and would come back safe. So far, nothing happened when he left the letters besides coming back at night, usually not smelling the best. I put the note to the side and looked at what Tristan had made me.
Wow, he spent time and money on this. An omelet, a blueberry muffin, a bagel sandwich, and some orange juice. I rightfully took a picture of my food and dug in.
The omelet was soft and fluffy. The way he cooked it was really pleasant and warmed me up. It was nice. Then came the sandwich. It was very rich and meaty and made me feel somewhat more energetic. Now that was surprising. The muffin stared at me and it was impossible to leave it there for longer, so I grabbed it and took a king-sized bite out. It was a bit too sweet, so I just drank some orange juice to neutralize the sugar so I wouldn't get diabetes. That's how it works, right?
I got in my rundown blue Honda Civic and started the engine. A ripping sound startled the engine to life. Uh oh. That didn't sound good. Better get that checked. Work comes first. Slowly, but surely, I started driving to Subway when I saw something, now looking like someone, familiar lying on the sidewalk. I stopped and jumped out. He was bleeding from the head, arms, and chest, blood pooling on the concrete. I ran over and grabbed my phone and called 911. My brother, Tristan was lying on the ground, holding on by a breath.
YOU ARE READING
The Witness
General FictionJenna is a 27 year old girl who lives in her apartment with her 28 year old brother, Tristan. It is September 21, 2003, not too long after one of the most infamous events in American history, 9/11, so there is lots of tension and conflict between Am...
