Sierra
The last, however long, have been the longest of my life. All the noise outside, the yelling, the gunshots are too much. I am on the floor, with my hands over my ears, rocking back and forth, squealing with the sound of every shot. All while making sure Ambrose doesn’t bleed out. My stress is through the roof, and I am so close to passing out and hoping it will all go away.
Silence falls from the outside. No voices. No gunshots.
“Sierra, please come here,” Ambrose says, his voice is quieter, hoarse almost.
It panics me, and I rush over, making sure he is okay. The bleeding has eased, but not stopped.
“Ambrose, are you okay? Are you dizzy? Tired? Going to pass out?”
I don’t know what a gunshot can do to a person, even if he told me he isn’t in any danger. He has still lost
