This is a story I wrote last semester for a writer’s open mic night.  So I take credit for this writing and I just wanted to share a story of mine.  Enjoy

I Bleed

Most people do not understand why I chose the job I have.  I always get, “Why does such a pretty girl like you work with such gruesome scenes?”, “You should have just been an English major” or “Have you ever thought of modeling?”.  No, I have never thought of modeling, and being an English major is so cliché.  I love working with the worst of the crime scenes.  I love the adrenaline rush I get when I walk into that blood spattered room containing a dead body (or more) sprawled out on the floor.  Then the rush of fear when I think, “What if that was me?”  Then, of course, the feeling of sadness when I realize, this was just a living, breathing person, someone’s child, someone’s partner, someone’s love.  Not that I ever have time for any type of love- the closest relationship I have is with my cat, Midnight.  My home away from home isn’t my non-existent boyfriend’s, but instead the library where I conduct my research.  And, I don’t think I would ever change a thing.

Late Friday night, when most thirty year olds would be cuddling in bed with their husbands, I am home reading with Midnight nestled into my legs.  The wind outside starts to pick up and causes the tree branches to knock on the windowpanes.  My phone rings and it is of course my mother who is forever worried about me.

“Sarah, it’s mom.” I love how she always has to introduce herself, as if I don’t know her voice by now.

“Yes mom, I know.  How is everything?”  I say as Midnight purrs into my neck.

“Why are you home sweetie? It’s Friday night go out.” I shake my head, here we go again.

“Mom, I just got home from a case I am exhausted.  No going out for me tonight.”

“I worry about you Sarah, you get too wrapped up in your work.  You need to live a little!”  I hear a beep on the other line.

“Ma, I have a beep- I’ll have to call you later.” I say and hang up instantly, not even giving her the chance to have the last word.

“Sarah speaking.”

“Sarah its Detective Adams, we need you to come in, we have a crime scene that needs investigation.  Meet me at Clark High School.”  His voice seems unusually deep and scratchy.  Maybe he is catching a cold.

“I’ll be right there.”

I jump off my plush sofa and Midnight pounces right off me.  I throw on my boots, glasses, jacket, and toss my strawberry blonde waves into a ponytail, which reaches midway down my back.  The cool fall wind slaps me in the face and instantly turns my cheeks rosy.  As soon as I start my car it roars to life and I am on my way to help solve my next big case.

You see, some people may ask why I do what I do.  And the answer is simple: if you knew anything about me, you wouldn’t need me to tell you.  And if you do know what happened to me…you’re a damn bitch for bringing it up.

“Sarah, wake up.” Mom said as she was shaking me out of my sleep. “Sarah you really need to wake up.”  She said through tears.

Mom never was cool about keeping her emotions in tact; she’s just so sensitive- I was always stronger in that aspect of life.

“Mom what’s wrong?”  I said jumping out of bed.

“We need to go down to the police station, something bad has happened….” She trailed off.

You would think when you get as scared as I did, you would focus more.  Like what is going on, ask who is hurt, where are Dad and Becky?  But no.  I remember the most unusual things from that night like Becky’s bed was unmade and our room still smelt of her vanilla fragrance.  And the way the hallway light shined into my pitch black room onto my mom’s face made her look really old.  Or maybe it was the way her face was frozen in a panic I have never seen before.  I blinked and realized my mom started yelling at me again to get up and telling me that she is serious.  I don’t remember how I got from point A to point B but before I knew it I was at a police station, some place foreign to me, and than I realized that my life, and my mom’s, were going to change forever.

Speeding down the highway, I realized I had to slow down because there were an unusual amount of cops in sly spaces.  Patience is the virtue I never was given.  That was something that me and my …never mind.  You see, this is why I like my job.  It keeps me busy, so busy that I get to numb the past.  But sometimes, it just has its way of creeping up out of the smallest cracks of your brain.  Times like these, where it is the 12^th anniversary of the most horrific day of my life.  I try and work away the pain, try and help people get closure, something I am so close to getting for myself.

The dim light shined off the grey marble floors of the precinct.  I still remember the pain in my mom’s sobs.  I still remember the hollow ache in the back of my throat because I would not let my tears escape.  I was nestled into my mom’s chest because she pulled me into her.  A shooting.  My dad and sister.  Dead.  My dad, my mom’s only love… my sister, her sunshine, her first born.  I’m heading away to college in just a few weeks, how can this happen?

“Ms. Parker- we need you to claim the bodies.”

Claim the bodies?  Is that all that they are now, bodies?  My dad, full of life and my sister, full of potential just a few hours ago are now referred to as just bodies?  My mom robotically gets up from her seat and tells me, “Sarah don’t come with me, this is not for you to see.”  And I let her go.  The bitch that I am lets my tender mother go into that room to see the dead, pale, bloody bodies of my dad and sister by herself.  After she walked out that room, I swear it was as if a switch turned off inside her.  Her once bouncing blue eyes came to an abrupt halt and washed into a rainy grey. 

My hands are unsteady on the wheel, sweaty too.  Why am I in complete silence?  I hate being alone with my thoughts that seem to come tumbling at me today.  I am so close to getting the closure I’ve wanted.  You see, this is why I do what I do; I know my father and sister’s deaths were not an “accident”.  These people got away too easily, too damn easily for my liking.  I think my mom knows this is why I snapped, completely turned around my desire to be an English teacher, decided to stay home for college and get into forensic science.  You know, I was “normal” once.  Before the “accidents” I had a boyfriend and we were pretty serious.  I was also popular.  Yeah, that’s right, I actually had friends.  I was even the head cheerleader of Clark High School.  But my friends and boyfriend were done watching me sink deeper and deeper into the grave that encapsulated my father and sister.

For eight years now I have been looking deeper and deeper into the “accidental” shooting of my father and sister.  After sleepless nights and piling up evidence I’ve finally figured it out.  You see, my father was on his way to success and he had many envious people surrounding him.  Right before my father’s death, he was promoted to Vice President of Finance and his close partner, Dean, was coincidentally given my dad’s job after he died.  I never did like him; I saw the way his stares lingered on my beautiful mother, how he kissed my father’s ass, and the way his squinty black eyes stared straight through my father when he was not looking.  Important documents started going missing and my father started stressing.  His trustworthiness got in the way of his thinking.  This is why I have grown up with the belief of never trust anyone.  Dean, who was “so close” to my father did not shed a tear at the wake and seemed right at home in my dad’s office when we went to pick up his box of things.  I don’t think Dean likes me either.  He knows about my profession and quite frankly, he knows I am a bitter bitch looking to lock up the killer of my dad and my sister who was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Finally, I make it.  A thick fog creeps through the bushes and surrounds the school.  I get out of my car and chills run up my spine.  I didn’t really think about it, but why would my boss tell me to meet him here?  This is not like him; he usually picks me up in our work truck.  I shake off my concerns and walk towards the main entrance.  My feet tap quietly on the concrete.  I take a deep breath, exhale, and watch a cloud of my breath form in front of me.

POW!  A loud crack of thunder shoots in the air and paralyzes my body.  What is going on?  I fall to the ground unable to move.  Shooting pains rocket and rush throughout my body.  Suddenly, I cannot breathe.  I begin to scream but nothing comes out of my mouth.  I am short of breath.  I’m panicking.  Someone help me, please someone help.

Footsteps travel slowly towards my body.  “Get off my back.” A man’s voice proclaims as he stands above my withering body.  It sounds like the man who called me, but this is not my boss.  The man’s stature towers over my body as he gleams down on me through his black ski mask.  I feel myself fading.  He walks calmly away from me and lets me fade away all alone.  Who wants to die alone?  My eyes close, my breathing slows, and the rising of my chest stops.  Most importantly I bleed.  I bleed for my mother, my father, my sister, my pain, my mother’s pain, my sister’s short lived life, my short lived life, and at this point, I can only hope for my own life while my blood drains out of my body.