I never even heard the gunshot, but yet there was a steady stream of dark red substance flowing around me. My fear had paralyzed me into a trance-like state that I must have drowned out everything around me. Then the sound, that awful sound of coughing, gagging, brought me back to the hell that was the present. Peeking from my place of safety, I saw my father lying there in such an awkward position...laying on his side, legs looking almost twisted, arms stretched out & the blood loss so great, I could not tell where the wound actually was. The gun laying out of his reach, I knew it was safe, and the shear reality of the situation set in...I ran to his side, almost tripping over my own feet. He was still alive, but I knew that it was not good. I yelled out for mother, "Call for help, hurry, please!!" I heard nothing from the other room, again, I screamed at the top of my lungs, "PLEASE, HELP, he's dying!!!!!!!!!" Again, the eerily silenced pierced through my heart like a sharpened dagger...my mind began racing..."Where was father before he shot himself?" "Had he already "talked" with mother?" "Did I hear anything?" "Why isn't she answering?" "Where is she?"