Three months ago, when Theo and I were walking home, we were walking along the very same bridge we were stopped at right now. The bridge passed over a river which ran clear as day. The bridge was for people to walk or run over only. The intersection with the lights ran just next to the bridge.
Theo and I were halfway over the bridge when it happened. It was wooden and old and Theo was moulding a piece of clay in his hands. We weren’t talking. I don’t remember why, but then a gunshot went off behind me. I felt the shock of the bullet entering my body from behind and I exhaled. I fell and Theo caught me. He screamed and yelled and then I reached a hand up to his face. Tears fell from his eyes onto the wound as he tried to stop the blood. I shook my head and writhed in pain before closing my eyes for what I thought was going to be the final time.
And then I woke up three months later in hospital not remembering any of this.
And they had said that I had hit my head.