My death in Mississippi.
I watch the blood drip from my hands and mix with the dew in the fallen leaves. I am sitting on a long white log in a clearing. My chest rises and falls as I slowly catch my breath.
Why did I react that way? There seemed to be no time between his words and my fists. I’ve never punched anyone that hard before. How many times did I swing? Five? Ten?
The sun breaks through the clouds and I look up to the sky to soak in the warmth. My forehead burns as I squint making me reach up to check the wound.
A crack and thud reach my ears as I slump backward over the log. Staring at the sky I realize I can’t move. Then I hear footsteps and the cracking of branches. The moisture in my last breaths turns into dew on my chin which mixes with the blood from my mouth. Everything slowly goes white.