Page 24
By Garrett C. Owen
IG: @garebear6458 TW: @GarrettCritten2
“Is my brother okay? Yo, he okay?” An officer tried to move him aside. The stretcher had to get through the mass of people, of which he was a part. “Is he dead?” the young man cried. “He’s in good hands, he’s in good hands,” the officer assured him. “Yo, is he dead? He ain’t dead, is he?” The officer knew the chances: slim to none. His little brother would be pronounced dead twenty minutes later in a crowded trauma suite. The bullets had torn through his chest and head. He had dressed as though it was any other day.