Tortured Andre
Summer 2021, Week 2
Monday morning
Andre's Home, The Heights
DeAndre Walker
Wiping off the condensation on the mirror, DeAndre Walker looked back at his reflection. Besides the wet and heavy curls and the slight bags under his eyes, Andre saw the same man he greeted every morning--at least from the outside. In his eyes, normally a deep shade of gold that his mom always called his sunshine eyes, there was a pain swirling about. Pain and anger. Anger at a man he barely knew but who he saw stepped over bodies like they were nothing more than scraps. Anger at himself for being too weak, too slow, too many things that left him unable to do anything. Anger at a world--no, that wasn't fair. Disappointment at a world that was hurting and reacted in a way that allowed someone like Bolt to exist. Trying to shake the thoughts, he brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and started getting ready for work. As he put on the deodorant, Andre saw a dark patch on his skin near his ribs. Touching it, he winced. A...bruise? Turning around in front of the mirror he saw another one on the other side. Memories flooded back as he tried and remembered what would have--When Bolt grabbed me. Yes, when he got tased into a blackout. Eyes lingering on a physical sign of his weakness, he grabbed his NVFD shirt and slipped it on. Socks, shoes, and coffee came afterwards. As he grabbed his keys, he stopped to make sure he was ready for the day one last time when-- The smash of the coffee cup didn't register to Andre, and the hot liquid pouring over his hands wasn't extreme enough to make his nerves send any pain signals to his brain. The news, on the TV, had just mentioned that a third person had died from the University attack. Three people. Three innocent people just trying to go on with their lives. DeAndre had seen death before. Sometimes when you arrived at a scene it was too late to save anyone. Sometimes things were already over. But he had never lost anyone he could have saved. That was one of the few things he prided himself on. If I was faster. He got the call from Isaac when he was running through the halls, that much he got from his friend. That was before...before the tragedy. If he flew faster, responded quicker. Finished the fight faster. Maybe....Maybe no one would have died. Andre was late for his shift that day. And he was late picking up Isaac and his family. Work was delayed while he stood there and let everything out in a safe place, somewhere he didn't have to put on the image of a firefighter always ready to take on a dangerous situation. He was late picking up Isaac and his family because he spent hours exhausting himself at the Industrial Complex. Andre knew he'd have to help train Isaac and train with him. Today though he needed to break things without worrying about someone else.
Type
Record, Historical
Medium
Digital Recording, Text
Authoring Date
June 28, 2021
Authors
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