SHORT STORY PAGE
THE QUESTION
Chapter 1
There was a loud booming sound as I walked down the snowy road. I was about to turn back; the snow falling more heavily now. The cold sank into my bones, and the fleece jacket I was wearing was not adequate protection from the elements in which I found myself. There it was again—another booming sound; this one louder than the last. Should I turn back? Should I go see what the cause of the noise was? Not using my better judgment, with my curiosity getting the better of me, I walked forward.
“Is it really that bad?” I heard the bearded man say as I turned the corner. I looked and saw him sitting on a wooden bench. The bench was grayish looking as it had been weathered. There was a small pool of dull blood accumulating to the right of where he was sitting. It appeared to have coagulated quickly in the cold weather we were enduring.
“I really do not think it is. I just need to get to my feet and walk a bit. Then I believe everything will be alright.” The voice was weak as I heard him speak.
I looked at him and thought to myself, turn and walk the other way. I did not need to get involved. I paused for a second. My hands and feet were cold, and from past experience this was not the sort of thing I wanted to get involved with.
“You there. Please come over and help me,” the bearded man said authoritatively. I looked him in the eyes. They were the lightest blue eyes I had ever seen. They were almost gray in appearance. I wanted to turn, but I was frozen. There was something that seemed to pull me in; something that I knew would take me further than I wished to go.
“Listen, I do not…” I could not even get the words out before there was a booming voice coming from the bearded man.
“I need you now. Come here and put pressure on the wound. I need to make sure the assailant is gone. Now! I spoke. He needs assistance now, and I need to clear the scene,” he shouted!
I walked over hurriedly and looked down as the bearded man had taken a piece of what appeared to be a shirt that he had torn from underneath the jacket he was wearing. He had balled it up into a semi-round looking gauze and pressed it into the flesh on the left side under his ribs. It had barely been able to stem the flow of blood that had leaked out. That was apparent from the pooling of the crimson liquid.
“I do not think your plan to stop the bleeding is working,” I said as I replaced his hand and applied as much pressure as I could.
“Just stay there and push. I will be back in a minute. I have called for an ambulance but sometimes it takes too much time,” he said as he ran away looking around the area.
I looked down at the young man’s inimitable facial expressions and noticed the grayish color of his face; he struggled to catch his breath. I looked at the man, and it struck me how similar he looked to my son. He would have been thirty-two last Wednesday. Maybe it was my mind playing tricks, but he was so very similar.
“Hold on, Thomas. Help will come soon, but you need to find the strength to hold on,” I whispered in his ear. I felt his head turn, and he looked at me strangely. I had done something that I had not realized. I called him by my son’s name, Thomas. It had been a long time since I had formed his name in my mouth and spoken it.
“The unknown is the beginning of the journey” Chris Broome
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