Hey guys!
Sorry I haven't posted in so long. School hasn't helped me and the stress of family has took its toll.
I thank everyone who has reviewed, viewed, visited, followed, or favorited the story so far. I honestly couldn't do this without you guys and am glad you love my writings!
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
~Lucid3762
No… she thought. He was gone, going after Amber. All Jane saw was him running away; she wanted to follow, so very very bad, but she was so tired. Running and fighting a boy was more work that what movies showed. When he ran off Jane felt her heart drop, he was gone before she knew it. But the way his muscles contracted underneath her was enough to get her through the sleepless night she may endure. As Jane's thoughts raced, her emotions flashed before her eyes.
Amber opened the door and was greeted by a horrid sight. Her mother, laying on the couch with two unfinished lines of cocaine on the filthy glass table, a razor and her silver straw laying besides the lines.
"Mom!" Amber screamed and rushed beside the table, "Mom! Jackie!". When mom didn't reply, Amber was torn between calling an ambulance or not doing anything. She paced in front of the table and felt hot tears start to come. If I tell someone, I'll be taken from her, she thought to herself, but if I don't say anything, she'll be taken from me. It was decided, Amber picked up the phone she had in her pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
"9-1-1. What's your emergency?" a female operator said over the phone.
"It's my mom!" Amber cried into the phone, "she's not responding to me.". Amber was at the point of tears.
"Okay honey, tell me where you are and I'll send an ambulance.". She relayed her address to the operator and was assured an ambulance would arrive soon. Waiting, Amber tried to clean up the drugs laying absently on the table by sweeping them and dumping them in the trash; she was only hastened as the heard the wail of the sirens and the saw the lights flashing in her neighborhood. Hurriedly, she washed her hands in the kitchen sink and put a pile of newspapers, as orderly as she could in the little time she had, on top of the uncleaned table; whatever visible drugs once layed there, were now gone and disposed of.
The paramedics pounded on the door just as Amber finished disposing the evidence. She opened the door and saw as four men dressed in a black shirt and baggy black pants rushed into the house and circled the woman on the couch. One took her pulse, another tried to get a response out of her, and the others carried in a large bed-like cart to place her on. On three, they lifted the mother off of the couch and onto the bed and wheeled her out of the house. Amber was right on their heels as they ran into the flashing white and red truck. The man taking her pulse now was giving her air through a big football shaped apparatus as they folded the yellow legs under the cart and slipped Amber's mother inside. Close on their heels, Amber slid into the truck and on the seat, her body across from her mother's unconscious head. The paramedics continued to work on her mother, putting a thing she called a heart restarter that they used on her too many times for comfort. What were they called again? she asked herself and was answered as they put the two plates on her mother's chest, and shouted "Clear", a defibrillator which was wrote on the side of the dark grey box in silver letters. The shock pulsed through her moms body, but her heart didn't start. They did it again, and again, and again. Nothing.
"Come on mom!" Amber cried.
They arrived at the hospital, the darkness still alive in the night as they rushed her body into the room. People in scrubs circled around the stretcher her mother was placed on, shouting things at each other that Amber was too distracted to hear. Time slowed long before she got there anyway. Amber travelled behind her mother at a small distance before she was stopped by a woman with black hair, tanned skin, warm brown eyes, and green scrubs.
"You have to stay here sweety." she cooed.
"No. That's my mother." she replied, her calmness being shown through the shock.
"I know," the nurse continued to speak kindly, "let the doctors do their work."
Amber was shown to a seat in the sterile lobby; she never noticed how clean the entire place looked, how calm despite the previous minutes. It was a sterile white and smelled of something Amber couldn't place. In the lobby, dark blue cushioned single seats on a grey carpet. Little toys are puzzles were scattered where little kids played with them and mothers sat on the chairs, reading magazines and occasionally stealing glances at Amber.
How long am I going to have to wait?
