Ash

The day we are born is the day we are marked for death.

Words, father threw at me when I was still a child, echo loudly in my mind, the moment I wake and become aware of my surroundings.

Beside me, Hazel eyes tosses fitfully, her full lips parting and eliciting a loud moan. They bring back to mind the situation that took place an hour ago. Thank goodness for the tranquilizers the doctor gave her, otherwise, it would have been a different story. The echoes of her screams still fill my ears.

The glare from the overhead light cuts directly into my eyes, intensifying the pounding in my...