The air around me grows still. I watch in horror as her body crumples to the ground.

And suddenly I’m screaming.

The explosive sound of the shot rings through the night air.

I can’t make out any other sound. I can see my brother crouching over her. And he’s screaming, and I’m screaming, and all I hear is the deafening sound of shots ringing out.

I feel strong arms pull me out of the range of fire, a fellow officer has pulled me back. But I want him to let go, I want to make sure she is okay.

I know she isn’t though.

The funeral was awful. I had to maintain some sort of composure as they lowered her casket into the ground.

My brother can hardly stand, a mix of the bullet wounds to his legs and the crushing grief and memory.

I have to be strong for him.

I support him as best I can.

But I’m so weak.

She was like a sister.

We’re in his room hours later, he’s slumped over on the floor. I sit beside him. His hands fiddle with a small silver ring.

A few words send my heart to my throat.

“I was going to marry her.”

That’s all it takes to send him into another sobbing fit. I hold him tightly. I take a shaky breath in.

Because she’s dead. Her beautiful dark skin, her bright smile. She loved the color yellow. She loved the ocean and she loved cats.

And she was dead.

It was a miscommunication. She worked on the police force with my brother and I- that’s how they met.

The officers were instructed to fire upon a gang threatening to bomb a local school.

They were misinformed of the proper location and ended up firing on us instead.

4 injured, 2 dead.

I fought the grief building in my throat.

I blamed myself. As my brother fell to bits in my arms, I raised my head to the sky and found myself praying this was a nightmare.

I never woke up from it though.