9/11 Short Stories

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Katherine sank into the rocking chair, her hand covering the bleeding wound. Her eyes trained on the dipping sun, the blue sky was filled with streams of pink and red. The weariness of blood loss was creeping up on her as she pressed her hand even tighter against her side. Still, blood seeped through, staining her once pretty, blue sundress, now ripped and a sickening shade of maroon. She heard frantic steps inside the house. Her mother was talking quickly, Katherine's name being dropped a few times. Katherine wasn't sure to whom her mom could be talking; even still, the alcohol in her mother's system audibly weighed her words down. Maybe it was her step dad, Michael? The drunken lies slipped from her mother's lips continuously. …show more content…

Small droplets of blood cascaded down the front of her dress. “You are wrong; I am not your daughter." Sarah swallowed, nodding slowly. “Azadkiel." Without a second thought, Sarah raced towards the truck. In an instant, the angel was there. Blood dripped from the dress. “That is insulting. I am talking to you.” The pickup caught fire. Sarah jumped, looking between the flames and Azadkiel. Without hesitation, Azadkiel placed a warm hand against Sarah's forehead. Two blinding, blue flames shot from her eyes, and Sarah’s scream filled the sky. The sun finally sunk behind the horizon. Sarah Delacroix was dead, and Azadkiel removed herself from her vessel. When she came to, Katherine’s body was racked with an insurmountable amount of pain. She felt like she’d topple over at the slightest gust of wind. The girl knew she’d have to call 911. She’d have to explain that her mother had attacked her, that she’d tried to gut her with a bread knife. Her movements were slow, jerky, and painful, and every breath, every step she took caused a wave of searing pain throughout her …show more content…

It was a small town, and when you lived in the middle of it, there were obvious perks. Neighbors gathered around to see Katherine wheeled away on a gurney, and a long, black bag zipped up. It was a spectacle to see, in their small town. One that was surely not going to be forgotten anytime soon. "Katherine, hey." Michael, her stepdad stepped into the room. He was carrying a bouquet of simple, white flowers. "I hope you're feeling better. The doctors... well," He trailed off. "Let's not talk about that." While his tone was light, something heavy weighed him down. "Your mother did this to you?" He placed the flowers on a table and sat down. His blue eyes caught light, and tears brimmed. Katherine nodded her head, and tried to reassure her dad she was fine now. That she was okay, because Sarah - the woman who was supposed to take care of her - was dead. Gone. She didn't know how, and frankly, Katherine didn't give a damn. "I..I'm sorry," Michael said. Those words had been spit at her enough that day. Instead of saying that it "was fine" or she "was okay." "Why do you have to be sorry? It's not like you did this to

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