I Held His Hand

I held his hand. It was ice cold. He didn't hold mine back. I was too late. There was no going back. Shocked and surprised. I should have been. That's what my mind kept telling me. But my heart said different. Like my soul knew it was coming. A prophecy played out right in front of me. One I'd never heard before. That is until it started. I looked. Bang. It echoed. Time reversed in an instant. Jolted out of bed. I heard it just now. What was that sound? Ask it again. I should have known right then. Carry on, carry on. Nothing to see here. Spun my wheels all day. Sign after sign. Turn a blind eye. One time, two times, three times. So it goes. Hours and hours I left him alone. Waited. AH! I should have known. Moment of truth. The cats out of the bag. Felt it in my bones. I walked, wishbone in my hand. He's gone. My Dad. I know he's dead. 50 more yards. I'm almost there. Turn the corner. Open a door. Frozen in disbelief from something I already knew. Snap into action. Yell his name. Over and over. He won't get up. There's so much blood. Come on, sit him up. Where is he shot? Close my eyes tight. I changed my mind. I didn't want to know. Not any more. I take it back. I want to be wrong. I need help. Someone, anyone help! No. They can't see this. We're all going to break. Maybe if I just stay here could we both just disappear? So I held his hand. It was ice cold. He didn't hold mine back. I was too late.