It's okay until it isn't

Broken

((two things. It'll be Minho's POV for the rest of the book. two: the rest of these chapters contain extreme grief ))

For a split second I hoped.

I dared to hope.

I hoped the gun didn't work.

Didn't have bullets.

Was broken.

Then I heard the shot.

Then it felt as if my life had dulled.

Remember when I said the changing was the worst pain in my life?

I was wrong.

So wrong.

This feeling made the changing feel like a poke.

I was honestly surprised I hadn't died from the pain in my chest as I heard the bullet hit something.

Maybe it didn't hit him?

Then I heard the noise of something falling, and knew it had.

I don't think I was crying anymore.

I heard no noise.

Felt no ground beneath my feet.

I turned away, and opened my eyes as I slowly turned to the door.

If I looked at Newt now, I just wouldn't.

I wouldn't be able to do anything ever again.

The gun fell from my numb fingers.

I didn't hear it hit the floor.

I saw my friends run into the hut.

They must have heard the shot.

I ignored them.

Their lips were moving, but I couldn't hear any sound.

I made it out of the house.

I made it a few feet from the door.

Then everything that just happened hit me like a wave.

I took a step backwards, before my legs buckled and I sunk into the sand.

I curled into a ball, my hands over my head.

It all collapsed on me then.

Newt was dead.

I killed him.

He wanted me to.

Newt was dead.

I felt hands on me, and I heard muffled voices.

I couldn't understand what they were saying.

It all blended into a background noise.

My vision keeled over and blackness danced across my tilting vision.

I was saying Newt's name.

I was calling out to him.

I knew he wouldn't answer.

I couldn't see.

I just saw black, and white, and gray.

The colors flashed across my vision, and the background noise was deafening.

All I wanted was Newt.

My throat was burning, and I realized I had been screaming.

Still was screaming.

I felt people's arms on me.

I wasn't on the sand anymore.

I was being carried.

I was set down.

I had never stopped crying.

I couldn't hear anything.

I think I was still screaming.

I heard the background noise grow in and out of focus, and I caught snippets of words.

The voices sounded like my friends.

My vision was spiraling down a black hole.

I managed to rasp out a few words before my body decided to save me from this nightmare of consciousness.

"I-I did it for him. . ."

I had no dream.