Why Should I Tell You Anything? COMPLETED

A Bloody Bath and a Rubber Duckie

I laid him on the kitchen floor to avoid staining the carpet with blood. At least I could clean the hardwood better than the carpet. By the time I returned to the house, Mom still had not come home and it was nearing seven o'clock, cloaking outside in a darker shadow. I had considered calling her, asking her to come home immediately to help me, but the boy would not allow a single moment wasted.

Not because he was complaining, no, it was because he collapsed again. He complained to be choking on blood and unable to breathe, clawing at the ground desperately to find water. He was becoming delirious, nothing like he was before. I also wanted to call 911, but he would not have it. He screamed at me not to call for "medics" and begged to keep his presence unknown for the time being. In those words.

Appalled by the way he spoke, being so young in the first place, I somehow kept my mouth shut. So I quickly got to work, using the methods my mom taught me just in case of an emergency. Meaning if someone wandered out from the forest, past the fence, and into our yard. I began to wonder the same thing about the boy since he told me several times that it was him in the back door window. I quickly checked to see if the handprint was still there and it was. Blood dripping from the print, sliding down the glass and almost frozen now.

I grabbed the first aid kit, trying to ask him the basic questions, struggling to understand what he felt. As he laid limply on his side, his eyes drooping with exhaustion, he vaguely explained that he was choking on something-probably blood-and felt extremely dizzy. He was freezing cold which was obvious due to his choice in clothes. I had to drag his ratty black coat off him, though he desperately fought to keep it on.

But it was soaked in blood and was filled with holes; he really needed new clothes. Under his coat, I realized why he was so cold and so adamant about keeping the coat on. He wears an air-thin long sleeve shirt that buttoned down the center, a couple sizes too big for his tiny body. Blood is smeared crimson on the white shirt letting me see his dark scars under the thin cloth. He wears thin black pants that seem too baggy and held up by his quivering fingers.

He wears black boots that seem to resemble combat boots, but also too big for him. His ink black hair is matted from the blood, tangled to the point where it seems painful to brush. His eyes wild as I looked him over for any injuries, worried he may not know he's injured. But I didn't find any. He started to yell at me, scolding me for taking his coat from him, his voice found again.

Then I scolded him for being an idiot, no longer caring for his young age and treating him like a spoiled teenager. Then I told him to stop complaining and let me help him or else I could just call the police and have them deal with him. He stared at me for a second, completely clueless for a couple seconds. Then his eyes widened in horror and quickly asked me to help him.

Satisfied with that, I once again set off to work.

I started a warm bath for him to wash the blood off his body. I returned to the kitchen to find him crawling towards the back sliding door leaving a trail of bloody handprints and smudges. His head lifted as he tried to drag himself towards it, his eyes wide with hope. I stared for a moment, before sighing, alerting him of my presence. He jumped as if I had scared him and glanced back at me, almost worried.

I asked what he was doing. But he dropped his head in shame unable to look me in the eyes. So I slowly moved onto the next topic, still wary of this little boy covered in blood and scars. I couldn't just send him away. I had to help him. So I asked if I could check him for wounds again before the bath.

Then his eyes widened in horror for a moment, then asked why he was getting a bath. I gave him an incredulous look, my hands almost going to my hips but I remember they are covered in blood because I carried him. I obviously explained he was covered in blood and said he couldn't walk around like that for any longer, he was also making a huge mess. Mom will freak out about when she comes home.