Peace in Death-Chapter two

Another thing I was always told is that believing is seeing. My family really had no faith, and I was brought up that way. Sure I believed in God and Jesus, the whole bit, but I didn't have the faith to believe in what I couldn't see. I saw this. I saw the blood, swirling around me as if it were a cloud, consuming me, drowning my every thought. I saw her eyes. Dead as a doornail. The life was drained from her. The evil men pulled the plug in her brain and drained the life right out of her. My mom was gone. 1

I woke up on a hospital bed, I knew not because I could see, but because I could smell it. I could smell the death and sickness the walls heald within them. My eyes were covered with a smokey layer of something I assumed was disbelief, fear, and sorrow. A deep sad sorrow, something...something was there. Something that had been there, been lifted, and been dropped back on. The brick. I felt it within the pit of my stomach, so heavy, pushing down, down. Nothing I wanted to say came out of my mouth. I tried to scream, but there was no sound. I screamed and screamed until my throat grew scratchy. Just then a nurse walked in. She was wearing plain white scrubs with the name of the hospital embroidered on the pocket. Her mouth moved. I knew she was trying to talk to me, I simply couldn't hear her. I could hear nothing, I could see nothing. I grew dizzy and felt myself falling, falling far into a pit. Nothing could bring me back. Nothing could pull me up from the depths that I had sunk to.2

The next time I woke up I could hear some, see some, but I was not back to myself. I saw my dad who I could tell had been crying. My dad never cried. It just wasn't possible. Yes, it had to be, Josef never cried. Mom was dead. Dead as a doornail. 3

"NO NO NO NO NO!" I screamed as loud as I could. I wouldn't sit here and let them say what they were saying. I wouldn't let my mother be dead. My dad looked over at me with a frown on his face. It wasn't my screaming, it was what I was going through. I was so angry, I wouldn't let her be dead.4

"Maggie, do you know what happened?" He spoke without changing emotion, without barely moving or looking at me. I knew what happened. Mom was killed.5

"I know what happened dad. I'm not going to accept it. Mommy isn't dead she can't be mommy can't die!" I knew I was mumbling nonsense. Nothing that came out of my mouth made sense.6

"Mr. Forister your daughter is suffering from post trauma shock. We don't know when she'll come out of it. It could affect her in serious ways."7

"Such as what?" My father asked.8

"Well, if it is very serious, it could result in coma. There's no saying how long it would take her to come out of that. What would you like to do?"9

"What are my options?" He hadn't changed his expression at all.10

"Well you can take her home and see how she does, keep her under observation for a week or two, and report back to the hospital, or you can keep her at the hospital for a while." I could tell my father didn't want to keep me at the hospital, he needed me. He knew that I needed him too.11

"I'll take her home. Can I take her home now?"12

"We...well...uh...umm..yeah, you have to get the discharge papers..." My dad was already picking me up and carrying me out the door. He walked madly through the halls and right through the front doors, taking huge wide steps. My father was a very handsome man, he was young and tall, and very thin. I could tell he was angry. I could tell he felt like me. I was so angry I could go on a shooting rampage. I could kill every one of those jerks that killed my mom. I would, I vowed from that point on I would live to find those men and kill them if it was the very last thing I did. 13

My dad shoveled me into the front seat and buckled my seat belt and walked madly over to the drivers side and slammed into the seat. As we drove off I looked out the back window and could see the alley where my mom and I were drying just hours before. I could feel the body on me. I could feel the blood swirling around me, drowning me. I could feel the cold flakes of snow falling on my face. As we drove away, the greatest thing I could feel was the anger toward the men that had killed her. It blackened me. My world had become completely cold and black and full of hate. It covered my eyes like a veil of black lace. As we pulled up to the house I ran upstairs and pulled on all the black I had, turned off my light and sat. Suddenly the sorrow hit me like a shovel, and I cried for hours until I fell asleep.14