The Four Of Us

The streets were loud that day. Too loud. Sam watched helplessly from the sidewalk, her heart pounding in her chest. The bright sunlight made the scene almost surreal, as though the tragedy unfolding was just a cruel dream. But it wasn’t. She could still hear the screech of tires echoing in her ears, a sound so sharp it cut through the chaos. Her brother, King, lay crumpled on the asphalt, his right leg twisted in a way that nature never intended. Blood pooled around him like an accusation. “Call 911!” a voice screamed. Sam didn’t know if it was hers or someone else’s. All she could do was run toward him. The next scene blurred into hospital corridors, antiseptic smells, and the dull hum of machines. King’s cries of pain shattered through the beeping of the monitors. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered, holding his trembling hand, but his tears made her own throat tighten. It was the first time she’d ever seen her brother cry—her strong, unshakable King. In the waiting room, their parents’ voices rose, clashing in anger. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had been paying attention!” her father shouted. “Oh, so now it’s my fault? Maybe if you weren’t so—” “Stop it!” Sam’s voice cracked, silencing the argument for a moment. But it was too late. The damage was done. Months later, the accident’s aftermath was everywhere—in King’s prosthetic leg, in the empty space at the dining table where their father used to sit, and in the invisible wall that grew between them all. Sam startled awake, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her body was drenched in sweat, her heart thudding so hard it seemed to echo in the small room. She sat up, hugging her knees, tears streaming down her face. The dream always came back. And it always ended the same—King walking out of the house, ignoring her cries. Shaking, she reached for her Bible on the bedside table. She wiped her tears and opened it to a bookmarked page. Her hands trembled as she whispered a prayer, her voice soft but steady. “Lord, please help me let go of this. Help me trust in Your plan and find peace. Heal our family… heal my heart.” As the prayer settled into silence, she let the words of Scripture guide her, grounding herself in the comfort they brought. Sam was still sitting cross-legged on her bed, Bible now closed on her lap, when the door creaked open. King poked his head in, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “Morning, Prayer Warrior,” he teased, his prosthetic leg tapping softly against the wooden floor as he entered the room. “Morning,” she replied, her voice still raw from the tears she’d shed earlier. King walked in holding a plate of steaming fried rice. He didn’t say a word as he sat on the edge of her bed, grabbed a spoonful, and exaggeratedly stuffed it into his mouth. “Wow,” he said, his eyes widening as if he’d just tasted heaven. “Whoever cooked this deserves an award!” Sam rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Are you just here to torment me or…?” He winked at her, took another dramatic bite, and then stood up. “Food’s ready, lazybones. Better not let Mum eat it all.” Before she could say anything else, he was gone, leaving her with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. She shook her head, the heaviness from her earlier dream lifting slightly. After a quick shower, Sam joined her mother at the dining table. The rich aroma of rice filled the air, mingling with the sound of the television softly playing in the background. Her mother looked up and smiled warmly. “Good morning, sweetheart. Finally decided to grace us with your presence?” Sam laughed, grabbing a plate. “Morning, Mum. King already gave me the food announcement.” Her mother chuckled. “Of course, he did. Your dad’s coming to pick you two up later, by the way. He wants to celebrate his birthday with you.” Sam’s hand paused mid-reach for a serving spoon. “Oh… okay.” Her mother’s tone softened. “I know it’s still… complicated. But it’s important to him, and it’s good for you two to spend time together.” Sam nodded, her appetite dimming slightly at the thought of seeing her father. She focused on her food, grateful for her mum’s chatter to fill the silence. Sam and King arrived at school. Their small friend group—Chris and Dwayne—were already waiting at their usual spot by the lockers. Chris, ever the science enthusiast, was scribbling something furiously into his notebook. Dwayne leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone, looking every bit the effortlessly cool model he was. “Fashionably late as always,” Dwayne said, grinning as King and Sam approached. “You know us,” King replied with a mock bow. “Hey, Sam!” Chris called out, waving a small gadget in his hands. “You’ve gotta check this out — it’s the latest sensor tech. You wouldn’t believe how sensitive it is.” Dwayne chuckled, nudging Chris. “Yeah, and last week I had this crazy modeling shoot. You won’t believe the weird poses they made me do. I swear, at one point I looked like a flamingo caught in a wind tunnel.” King appeared beside Sam, rolling his eyes but grinning. “Classic Dwayne, always up to something weird.” The group laughed, the sound bright and easy — a brief, welcome break from the heaviness Sam carried. For a moment, the pain faded, replaced by the warmth of friendship and teasing. Chris adjusted his glasses, excited. “We should all hang out this weekend — maybe check out that new arcade downtown.” King smirked. “Only if Dwayne promises not to break anything this time.” Sam smiled, feeling lighter than she had in days. Here, with her friends, she could almost forget the fractures in her world — if only for a little while. The group strode into the classroom cracking light hearted jokes and sharing experiences they had throughout the week. Just as laughter bubbled around the classroom, the room suddenly shuddered. At first, it was subtle — a low rumble beneath their feet — but then the desks began to shake violently, rattling papers and textbooks off their surfaces. Students froze, eyes wide, as the lights flickered overhead. Dust danced in the air, disturbed by the tremors. A sharp c***k echoed through the room, like the sound of splitting wood. “Everyone, get under your desks! Now!” the teacher’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent as she hurried in from the hallway. Sam dropped to the floor, crawling beneath her desk. Her heart hammered painfully in her chest, her fingers gripping the edge as the tremors worsened. She glanced sideways, catching King’s terrified gaze and the anxious faces of Chris and Dwayne nearby. They all mirrored her own fear — raw and unfiltered. Books toppled, chairs scraped, and screams pierced the chaos. The world around them seemed to tilt and break apart. Sam’s breath caught as another deafening c***k shattered the air. The tremors grew stronger, shaking the very foundation of the classroom. Walls creaked ominously, and the fluorescent lights flickered wildly, casting erratic shadows across terrified faces. A deafening c***k echoed, sharper and closer than before — like something massive giving way. Students screamed, their voices blending into a rising chorus of panic. The floor beneath Sam seemed to ripple like water, as if the earth itself was tearing apart. She squeezed her eyes shut, hands clutching the desk’s edge, trying to will the chaos to stop. But the shaking didn’t relent — it intensified, threatening to swallow them whole. Suddenly, a heavy crash thundered from the back of the room. Dust exploded into the air, choking and blinding. Sam’s heart raced uncontrollably as a cold wave of dread washed over her. And then—silence.