The E.R.

There were blood stains everywhere all over his blue, button-up shirt. Blood was still gushing from his face, which was now unrecognizable . It was coming from his head, his mouth, his nose, and almost anywhere else it could come from. His body was motionless on the crimson soaked gurney.

"We're losing him!"

The paramedics kept shouting in distress, nurses came out of every direction and took over. They wheeled him down to an open room as fast as they could.

"I can't find a pulse anywhere!" A nurse yelled to another across the boy's body. The doctor rushes in and asks, "What happened?"

"He was attacked with a metal pipe and severely beaten," one nurse answered. It seems as if everyone was doing something, but nothing was fixed. They were all running around, grabbing utensils, poking and prodding but nothing seemed to help.

"He's lost too much blood, he's going into a Hypovolemic shock. Contact this boy's parents as fast as you can, he won't have long," the doctor said this with little to no emotion. He was taught to distance himself from patients, care just enough to save them, but never enough to let their deaths kill you, too.

He signed up for the long hours, the sleepless nights, to be the hero and the villain, and to take fault for whichever one people presumed him to be in that moment. He looked at the boy once more before checking for a pulse that didn't come. He clenched his jaw trying to fight back tears, the boy had to be around 15.

"Call it, nurse.."

"But sir, we can't--"

"Call it, damnit. He can't be saved. The blood didn't take in time, he is dead, Nurse. So call it!"

She looked at the doctor, she knew if he could save him at all.. he would've, but he couldn't. She looked at the other nurses in the room who fell silent along with her. They all stared at him before looking away and hanging their heads down. The main nurse then looked down at her watch.

"Time of death 11:57 PM.."

The doctor dismissed himself to the Quiet Room after she's done. It was the fifth death this month at the hospital. His wife hated when he came home after a death, he was standoffish and cold, so cold. He would come home to her and their son, as if he was a robot being controlled.

He wished he could be home in moments like these but even more so tonight, his son's birthday was in three minutes and he usually gets to wake him up with a cupcake at 12 A.M. before having to come into work. He'll be 15 years old and is the smartest kid around to let his father tell it.

When things happen with kids, he always pictures his son and how he's blessed he isn't in the situation other grieving parents are in that moment of getting that call or even worse.. watching the line flatten in front them.

Knock, knock. He doesn't answer, he never answers. The nurse walks in anyway.

"Sir, your wife is on the line--"

"Do you not see what just happened to that boy?"

"Yes sir, but--"

"So tell her, I'm busy with work. Thank you."

"But--"

"Thank you."

"Yes, sir."

She closes the door behind her quickly. He tucks his head between his knees, he never feels this nauseous after a child's death.

Suddenly, he hears two officers on the other side of the door speaking about what happened.

"We're going to charge it as a hate crime, witnesses say the boy was with his 'partner' when he was attacked by a larger group. The partner escaped, but the boy didn't. They were yelling hateful remarks in reference to his sexuality," this statement came from a deep-voiced male officer.

The doctor looked at the door appalled by what he was hearing on the other side. He was a heterosexual man himself and didn't condone homosexual activity, it's repulsive to him, personally, but for someone to lose their life over who they care for? That's horrid. He continued to listen to the officers.

"We couldn't contact the boy's father, neither could his wife. He was at work and wasn't accepting calls. Go figure. The mother should be here any minute though," this voice was a more mid-tone soothing voice coming from a woman officer.

The doctor shook his head at the neglect of the father, too busy for your son? Your son who is now dead? Just wow, it blew his mind.

"Hello, officers. I'm the boy's mother," the woman was clearly breaking down with every word, trying to compose herself. She apologized as if anyone blamed her for her reaction.

"Mrs. Surman, please follow us so we can talk somewhere privately," the female officer's voice spoke.

Surman? The doctor's last name was Surman. He all, but flew to the door and opened it as fast as he could. The officers turned around to see a man standing there pale-faced, his wife and him locked eyes.

"Honey, why are you here? What's wrong?" he asked frantically, still locking his eyes on her. She ran the short distance to him and hugged him tightly while releasing all the tears and screams she had held in to keep composure. He couldn't hug her back, he stood there motionless.

"Are you accepting calls now, sir?" one of the officers asked.

THE END.

Fun fact: Surman means death in Estonian.