"La victoria de un hombre, significara la tragica caida de otro."

I gasped, wringing my hands as I stared at the wide-eyed victim through teary eyes. The night was dark, and the sidewalk was cement-hard, and yet I fell to my knees, bending over the body.

The murderers were running away, laughing their victorious laughs, guns in their hands, blood on their skin and feeling happy with it all the while.

My heart was torn in two; between thinking of running after the killers, or just laying here and calling the police while facing the fact that Dad was gone.

Somewhere, something in my little heart told me that Dad had gone off to join Mum in the heavens, and they were finally reunited in peace, and yet, something other in my little heart told me, "No.''

Dad's last words spilled out of his lips, a vulnerable lisp in the crushing silence, "Sofia," he softly rasped, "Look at me..."

I looked at him, staring deeply into his eyes, my chest heaving up and down as I sobbed, "Dad," I begged, "Don't go."

Dad only managed a shake of his head, a slight smile, and a barely audible, "I love you, Sofia."

He was gone.

His once beautiful, cheery eyes were now a spiralling hole of emptiness, of broken dreams, of a life cut short, and of a happy man now dead.

Oh, that rigid face. His body temperature was rapidly falling, and the wrinkly hand that I held was now icy, falling deep into the realms of death and decomposition.

His hair, streaked with grey, still smoothed over. His leather jacket, in which he kept his favourite Aurora pen was tucked in one of the pockets, its tip poking out from the force of his fall as he was shot with a gun.

The bullet had lodged itself in his chest, leaving a tiny bloody hole in sight as it punctured through his skin and into his heart, stopping it from beating any more.

The reality was hard to face, but it's one thing that will always be there, no matter how hard we try to get rid of it.

And now, the harsh reality was right in front of me, depicted in a man well known for his exceptional kindness and cheery attitude, laying frozen and stiff on a sidewalk with a bullet stuck in his heart.

The truth came crashing down, filling my head and heart with the most overwhelming sadness to know that both of my parents were gone.

''It isn't fair!'' I thought, for the gun was directed to me, but Dad blocked it just it time as the trigger was pulled, and the bullet shot with rapidness through the air.

"It isn't fair!" I thought, for I should have died and took the bullet, for I was younger and though life was still long for me, I didn't know how I could face it without Dad and his solemn advice.

"It isn't fair!" I thought, for the murderers had gone off, whooping gleefully at their supposed won after they had just killed a purely innocent man.

Dad once said,

"The win of one man, will mean the tragic downfall of another."

I guess it's true.

And I guess it's time to wake up, shake myself, dry my tears and call the police.

The siren lights flash in the distance, red, blue and white, destroying the heavy silence that had succumbed around me, shattering the inevitable calm after death, the darkness after pain.

Police walkie talkies beeped in every way, calling ambulances and other stuff of which I cannot drop a single penny of care to.

I stood, hands tucked deep in the pockets of my hoodie, and the hood covered my tear-stained cheeks, my bloodshot, red eyes as the policeman's gruff voice rang out in my ears, his questions pure nothings to my attention.

I couldn't care less about what happened around me. To them, this night was just another job in the field, a big explosion that momentarily stops their dull, monotone days at the office, for this town was a small one, and rare do stuff like this pop up.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rain fell dismally down on the grave stones, the soft thuds of water drops falling onto the moist and damp soil.

Wrapped in black linen, many of friends and family have come to say goodbye to Dad, matching black umbrellas raised above their heads.

The perpetual sound of foot falls rang in my ears like a dozen stabs to my heart. Maybe I'm just being overemotional, but the fact that this many people have come to say bye to Dad got me more teary-eyes than ever.

My aunt's arm wrapped around my shoulders as she held the umbrella above us with her free hand. She whispered soft words in my ear, and yet, they don't mean anything to me.

The putrid, musty scent of the inevitable dead floated in the air, and though some might consider the smell rancid, to me it was the sweet smell of what you will smell like, eventually, as crowds of people crowded your coffin, wearing black robes and umbrellas over their head.

People weren't wet because they had umbrellas above their heads, and yet, it wasn't fair.

Dad's coffin lay out in the open, the raindrops cascading on the glass.

Dad still had that smile on his face, and yet, he was naked except for a white linen wrapped around his body.

Many mumbled whispers were heard through the throng of people, their words a sacred goodbye, a last salute to the kind old man they had so well loved.

I said one last mumbled goodbye to Dad before the soil covered his coffin and his smiling face was buried underneath of piles and piles of brown, crumbly ground.

I was the first to step up when the soil covered the gaping, rectangle hole and the gravestone was set, with the words of Adero Johnson on it.

My trembling hands held the bouquet of sunflowers tightly, held together by one piece of twine. Sunflowers were the flowers that Dad loved the most, and maybe it was because of his own cheerful forbearance.

''Goodbye, Father,'' I whispered, as tears fell down my cheeks and sprinkled his grave. I tucked the flowers near his gravestone, and kissed the cold stone that was slick with rain.

I stood up, my whole body quivering with the weight of Dad's death and the waves of sadness that follows with it.

The aunt who had her arm around my shoulders approached me, and wrapped her chunky arms around my torso, pulling me closer as her umbrella dropped out of her hands.

Soon, a distant cousin followed, and his small hands held my waist, for he was still small.

Dad's brother followed, burying his face in my hair.

One by one, the rest of the family followed suit, from my mother's mum, to my dad's sister's daughter.

Mexicans do this, they hug when they say goodbye.

It's just, I never wanted to hug in this kind of scenario.

We pulled back, and for one moment we just stood there, around Dad's grave, tears falling silently down each's cheeks, as if mirroring the clouds tears, too.

I knelt, and bent over the grave, saying a sacred, "Te amo, papá, adiós."

I stood up, and the family filed out, holding hands and crying.

Be brave, Sofia, it's time to accept that Dad is gone, and he'll not be back.

Anyways, "La victoria de un hombre, significara la tragica caida de otro."

                       The End.