"Sandal! Listen. You have to identify Shoaib's body so we can complete the formalities and take them home. Okay? Everyone is waiting there. Your mother is waiting. We have to hurry." Says a familiar masculine voice.
"Let's go, Sandal." Says a feminine voice.
White...
Red...
White sheets and red stains.
Bloodstained white sheets... as far as I see.
"This way." A masculine voice said.
In the corner, I saw bodies with their hands uncovered.
"Sandal! Look, their hands. Can you recognize which one is Shoaib's?" Someone asked me.
"The third hand. It's... Shoaib's watch. But... why here? ... why does he have blood on his hand? What happened to his hand? Why..."
"Don't touch! He was shot in the hand and ..." a voice said.
My eyes shot open as I feel a sharp pain in my chest. Like someon
