Insecurities

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Blood spurted from his mouth as he staggered backwards from the weight of the blow he received. He fell to the pavement, his head bouncing from the impact. I watched with unmoving eyes as another man stepped out of the shadows. I didn't see both their faces, but I saw the glinting surface of a sharp object. A knife. He crouched next to the beaten man, his hands moving up, then in one swift move, plunged the knife straight to the other man's stomach. Then he stood up, getting a gun. The bullet pierced the stomach of the already injured man.

The man was lying in his blood, it forming a pool of red beneath and around him. The criminal walked away. Leaving a victim and mental scars for me. The vibration of my phone snapped me back to attention. I didn't realize my hands were shaking till I moved to get my phone from my pocket. They were shaking so hard, the phone clattered to the floor. I crouched to the floor, trying my best not to picture out the dying man just meters away from me.

Finally, I answered the phone. My father was on the other line, he was breathing hard. "Hello?" I answered, also breathing hard. I was closing my eyes, seeking comfort from the voice of my father. But he wasn't talking. I can only hear his strained breaths, like he just ran a marathon.

"Dad?" "Mikey?" Finally, an answer. "Where are you, son?" I collapsed on the wall, my legs giving out. "On the corner of 78th street and Parker Street," I answered.

"Help me out,Dad. I just..." My voice wavered. "I just saw someone get shot."

He chuckled, his breath audibly straining. "Don't worry son. I'll be there. That was just your imagination probably." The faint sound of sirens can be heard from his end. My breath evened out, but then I realized that I can hear them faintly, too. Maybe Dad is near already.

"Are you close, Dad? Are you following those sirens? Maybe they're headed here." I said.

"Closer than you'll ever think, son," he answered. The sirens sounded closer. "Tell Mom and Ailene that I love them, okay?" I ran my hands through my hair, in exasperation. "What are you talking about, Dad? We'll tell them together, damn it. Come here quick. Don't say such ominous things." I blinked hard, a stark realization dawning on me. But I pushed it away, disregarding it as hard as I can.

"Alright, but you tell them anyway. Just in case." The line went dead. The sirens are blaring loud as I stared off into the darkness behind a large bush.

It took longer before the police found me. I don't remember much, just that they asked me a bunch of shit-ass questions. The world collapsed around me as I saw the bloody man get hoisted up into an ambulance by a stretcher.

My hands went numb. My legs gave out. My lungs stopped functioning. My heart stopped producing blood. I was floating. I was dreaming. I was seeing the harsh reality right in front of my eyes.

Of course, Dad. It just had to be you huh?

I was numb since then. I didn't go to Dad's funeral. I was swallowed by my own regret. Existing inside it everyday. Had I only been brave enough to stop the criminal before he killed Dad. Had I only had the strength to stand up and help him. I was worthless.

I recovered years later. Yet not fully. I still carried the heavy weight of guilt inside me. You see me everywhere, now. On magazines, TV, posters, billboards. Anywhere. Everywhere.Yet this incident proves that I'm only human.

If you found this notebook on the corner of 78th Street and Parker Street, then please remember that every human being has a dark story to tell. I am weak. And that's my biggest insecurity.

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BOOO!!! What now?!