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 his heart had actually just stuttered. Maybe it was giving out on him. He didn't know.

He finally managed to see a dark blue streak at the bottom of his vision, almost black with how dark it was. It was definitely night-time. There was a throbbing pain across his nose and he realized his eyes were heavily swollen as he weakly brought his fingers up to brush them.

He lay for a moment, his forehead pressed to the cold wooden floor, feeling his breath go painfully in and slowly out. The floor around him was sticky with luke-warm blood and there was a slight gurgling sound each time he inhaled. What had happened?

Roenan turned his head weakly to the side and tried to open his eyes again. They opened partially this time, but the sight he saw before him caused him to shun away and squeeze his eyes shut again as he hastily pressed his forehead back against the floor. He let out a cry that he hardly recognized as his own; the sound echoing off the walls of the silent house. The image of his mother's empty eyes and lifeless body lying in a pool of her own blood still burned vividly against the back of his eyelids. She had a head-wound and a gun was lying close to her limp hand, near his father's body. The memories began to flash like an old movie projecting behind his eyes.

All the pain and fear and anger of the night hit him like a wall. He gasped, gurgling in a sharp gust of air. His breath latched and he coughed, blood spraying against the floor. He was going to die here, even with this second chance of consciousness. There was no way he could move to ask for help.

In a bid to calm himself, he began to think of when he was little. Long before all the chaos of the world came colliding in on his peaceful life. The happy memories didn't seem comforting as he felt himself fading.

The front door ahead of him began to creak and he impulsively flinched. He couldn't muster the strength to look up, even if he wanted to. His ribs and his face were searing with pain and his lungs were filling with blood.

He heard heavy footsteps enter through the door and stop abruptly, the intruder inhaling a sharp, stunned breath. The sound of clothes shifting was followed by the man shouting out of the door. Distant voices shouted back in response and the thud of quick footsteps grew louder as the men from outsiders approached the door. Roenan recognized the sound of the language they were speaking and it sent ice-cold fear sinking through his body.

He began to succumb to his injuries, fading out into darkness.

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