Blood gushed out of his mouth, warm and smelling of rust.
I lay on the ground and my vision started to blur. Not far away, the brake light of the truck was shining red. There was no one in the driver's seat. The door was open, as if something had dragged away the driver.
Then I saw him.
Doudou.
My son, ten years old, ran in from the parking lot entrance wearing the same blue school uniform I had put on him in the morning and carrying his school bag. His shoelaces came loose and made a snapping sound when he ran. The moment he saw me, the expression on his face I will never forget in my life - not fear, not crying, but a kind of determination, as if he had known this would happen for a long time.
He ran towards me, knelt down and touched my face with his little hands.
He called "Mom".
The voice was very soft, as if he was afraid of waking someone up.
Then white light engulfed everything.
