Torn and Broken

We were always together, August and I. For three years he’d been my life, been my everything. But that ended one night in a spray of red, a scar that washed away in the rain, as though August had never existed. I won’t forget though, and I’ll never forgive the ones who killed him. Not until their blood joins his, their bodies rotting somewhere out of sight, somewhere no one will ever find them.


4. Chapter 3: Don't Go

 “Everybody down on the ground!” he yelled, his gun flashing back and forth between myself and the staff. “I want your money out on the tables now!”

 “Mommy,” August sniffed, clutching at my arm, tears already welling up in his huge, terrified eyes. “Momma, what’s going on? Where’s Daddy?”

 “Shh, it’s all going to be alright,” I whispered back, pulling him down with me, under the table. It was filthy, but it was the safest we could get.

 I actually thought we’d be alright, somewhere in my mind, when a few moments later the sirens started. I was so wrong.

 “Shit. GODDAMN FUCKING SHIT! You called them, didn’t you?!” The man screamed it at me, his hand knotting in my hair and dragging me up. “You called the fucking cops, didn’t you!”

 “No, I swear. I swear I didn’t. I didn’t do anything,” I whimpered, heart racing as adrenaline coursed through me. I hadn’t. I hadn’t. I HADN’T DONE ANYTHING WRONG.

 “Stop hurting Mama,” a tiny child voice screamed, high pitched and angry. The hand in my hair moved away and I screamed, crawling forward, wanting more than anything for this man to turn back, to hurt me. I hit me and kill me and do whatever he wanted.

 “Please don’t touch him. Don’t hurt my baby, please. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt my baby.” I begged. I pleaded. I knelt at this violent, dangerous man’s feet and prayed, not to any god, but to him. The gun stayed trained on August, so I threw myself over him. Maybe the bullet couldn’t get through me. My life for August’s. A fair trade.

 “Heh, heh. Sorry, no dice kid.”

 I screamed. August cried. And he still took my baby from me, took him out into the rain, into the parking lot where only a few moments ago I’d danced and played. Took him into the circle of cops, a human shield.

 I ran out behind them, screaming, but the waitress caught me, stopped me. “You’ll get your kid killed,” she hissed angrily.

 Every moment was an eternity. Every heartbeat took forever. Every breath felt like dying.

 “You shoot me,” the man called, “and this kid dies.”

 Please, I prayed. Please, let them get through. Let them go and be safe and live.

 God is dead.

 So was my son.

 He shot August and ran. He shot my little baby, and they did nothing. The cops, with their guns and their badges and their cars, they didn’t stop him. They tried, but this guy was fast, and he ducked behind the building only seconds later.

 I knelt there for hours in the drizzling rain, clutching the broken body of my baby boy. Aidan came at some point and cried there, but I didn’t cry.

 I was so cold.

 I was so angry.

 I was so going to kill that man.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...