When I was fifteen, my stepfather got stabbed right in front of me.
There was a fight in the middle of my street at two am that woke our whole house up. My stepfather and uncle went downstairs and outside to go see what was going on. There was a drunk young man beating the shit out of one of our older neighbors. The old man started the fight because he found out the young man was dating his daughter.
My stepfather and uncle went down to go separate and break up the commotion. My stepfather was stabbed by one of the guys. He stumbled back and fell on to the porch, as I tried to catch him. The blood smeared all over the front of my shirt. The younger guys took off and my uncle called 911.
We were in the hospital until the early morning. When me and my mom got home, I checked my phone and saw I had a voicemail from my friend Carly. I never get voicemails from her, so I got curious and decided to listen to it. I opened it up. Carly...she was crying and apologizing for calling in the middle of the night, but she had just gotten a dream that there was a fight with screaming and she saw me being covered with blood. She begged me to call her back to make sure she was okay. The time stamp on the message was two am.
The thing was, she was a friend who lives in Spain. There was no way she could have known what happened.
