Life

A Story by Rama Masri

Death does not hurt the dead, death hurts the living.

“Death does not hurt the dead, death hurts the living.”

It was May 15 the afternoon I was just walking home when I heard, a gunshot I turned around suspecting to see an injured person, but little did I know it was aiming for me, when I realized that it was to late. I was hovering over my body by the time, I was taken to the hospital, I looked around scared not knowing what to do, I looked next to me saw my mother crying while my father held her in his arms, "Mom"' I called, "I'm here please look at me!" No one heard me, at the corner of my eye I saw my brother screaming while my sister cried, both were praying. I looked around expecting to see my body, but it was only covered with a white cloth, and a doctor approaching my family, explaining that I'm gone. All the while I never realized the white light next to me, I was drawn to it, as if it was calling me I knew what that was, but I couldn't leave yet there was so much to do, but no time at all, I walked over to my mom crying her eyes out, telling god to give her baby back, I sat in front of her sure that she could not see me, I held my hand up to her face and said it was my time and I loved her. With that I walked toward the blinding light.

And on May 17 he was buried.