“Oh, shit,” said Synch from the bedroom floor.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” said Cindy from the floor beside him.
They heard indiscernible yelling muted by the rap music, another gun-shot and a thump.
The rap was cut.
“…ambulance... ...shot and unconscious…,“ came from the other room.
Synch remained on his stomach.
“Shit, my arse hurts,” he said.
He heard Cindy gasp.
“You’re bleeding,” she said. “Lots.” Her voice broke into snivels. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Apply pressure will you before I bleed to death.”
They heard a chorus of sirens.
She flattened her hand on his buttock and pressed hard.
He stiffened and sucked in air.
She drew back a little.
“Press hard,” he said.
They heard doors open, footsteps and talking in the other room.
“What do you mean ‘this wasn’t supposed to happen’?” said Synch.
“My mother’s a witch,” she said through tears. She wiped her runny nose with the back of her free hand.
“My mother can be a bit that way too sometimes,” he said.
They heard car doors. Sirens droned to a stop and more car doors slamming.
“Quick, there’s no heart beat,” said someone standing at the front door. Fast paced footsteps entered the house. Synch half turned, looked back and saw two paramedics fly past. He blinked. Did one of them have short dread-locks and multiple face piercing?
“…over on his back… …start pumping.”
“I mean my mother is a real witch, a white witch, a wiccan,” said Cindy.
Someone was singing in the other room. The words were familiar. It was rock and roll.
Two other paramedics stood in the bedroom doorway. They spotted the blood under Cindy’s hand.
“Another victim in here,” one said over his shoulder to the others in the main room. They came in and put their boxes of medical equipment beside Synch. One moved Cindy’s hand a little. Fresh blood flowed copiously onto the carpet. “Keep pressing,” he said to Cindy.
The singing continued next door.
“Are you in pain,” the paramedic asked Synch.
“I’ve been shot in the arse. Of course I’m in pain.”
The medic opened his medical box.
One sterile gloved hand gave Synch a short flat plastic thing. There was a hole in the end of it.
“Put this to your lips and breath in through your mouth,” he instructed Synch. “It’s a pain killer.”
Synch did so.
“Who’s singing?” Synch asked. He felt light, all over.
“Angus. He’s a bit weird but an excellent medic,” came the answer.
“Why is he singing,” asked Cindy.
“He sings songs with a particular beat. Says the rhythm helps with timing chest compressions,” said the medic. “When I say ‘now’ remove your hand,” he said to Cindy. “Now.”
Synch couldn’t see what the medic had done.
The singing continued. Synch liked the guy’s voice.
“Does that hurt?” he asked Synch.
“A little,” said Synch. The room was lop-sided.
“Have another suck on that.”
Synch sucked on the lump of plastic and before he breathed out the room swirled around and around.
“Wh-hot were you thaying about y-hor Mum?” he asked Cindy.
“Stay with us,” the medic said loudly to Synch.
“…trying…” Synch managed.
“Most people don’t get drowsy when they use that,” said the medic. “You must be sensitive to drugs are you?”
“Don’t…. know,” Synch answered.
He was drifting off.
Sleep! Yeah, that’s what he needed.
He’d miss the singing.
His body felt lighter than air.
It was nice. He was so-o-o relaxed.
His eye-lids were heavy.
He was far away from… Cindy… the singing… the pain.
The last thing he remembered before unconsciousness consumed him was the voice singing in the next room.
“Another one bites the dust…”
By Diane L Wood
My Bio: http://write-intention.com/Diane_L_Wood.html
A Short Short Story: http://easywaytowrite.19.forumer.com/viewtopic.php?t=9
A Short Short Story: http://ancientearthashortstory.blogspot.com/
A Fun Page: http://easywaytowrite.19.forumer.com/viewtopic.php?t=47
(You may need to copy and paste these to your browser’s address bar.)