Roenan Farrah's eyelids were unusually heavy as he tried to blink them open. His heart stuttered for a moment, when the thought occurred to him that he may have lost his vision. Or, had his heart actually just stuttered? Was it giving out on him? He didn't know.

Slowly, a small line of vision appeared in the form a dark blue streak, so deep it was nearly black. It was definitely nighttime the world around him felt dim and distant.

A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed across the bridge of his nose. His eyes felt swollen, and he reached up with trembling fingers to brush them, confirming what he already knew.

He lay still, with forehead pressed to the cold wooden floor. With each inhale, came with a wet gurgle, and the floor beneath him felt slick and tacky with lukewarm blood.

What on earth had happened?

Struggling, Roenan turned his head to the side and tried to open his eyes again. They opened partially this time, but he recoiled instantly, squeezing his eyes shut. He let out a cry that he hardly recognized as his own; that raw sound echoing off the walls of the silent house. But the image he'd seen remained, burning vividly behind his closed eyes.

 His mother's face was slack, her eyes glassy and empty, and gun lay near her outstretched hand. Just beyond her, was his father’s lifeless body, crumpled to the floor. 

 The memories of the night suddenly began to flash through his mind like old visions.. All the pain, the fear, and the anger of that night hit him like a wall. He gasped, his breath latching. Blood filled his mouth, and a violent cough sent it spattering onto the floor. 

 He was going to die here.

 Even with this fragile flicker of consciousness, he had no strenghth left to call for help.

 He tried to hold onto something—anything—so he let his mind drift to something better. To childhood, to warmth, to safety. But even the happiest memories couldn’t soothe him now, as he felt himself fading away.

Suddenly, there was the sound of shattering of glass and he impulsively flinched. He couldn't muster the strength to look up, even though he wanted to. Pain seared through his body and he felt a chill roll through him as his breathing becoming more shallow and wet.

 He heard heavy footsteps land to the floor, glass crunching underneath them, as they slowly began creeping his way.

 There was a sharp breath - a gasp - before the person turned to jog back toward where they had landed. The man began shouting out into the cold night and distant voices answered back. The sounds of many fast footsteps began to approach from outside.

 Roenan recognized the sound of the language they were speaking, and it sent ice-cold fear sinking through his body.

 The darkness began to take him away again.

Only this time, he hoped he wouldn't wake up.