Creative Writing: The Dying Boy

“Don’t just stand there! Do something! Can’t anyone see that he’s dying?” a shrilly masculine voice screamed out into the night. The dying boy was lying on the ground, blood pouring out. He had been stabbed in his chest, just a little bit after his top surgery. He had just gotten done transitioning from a girl to a boy, finally happy with who he was. And now he was there, dying. The yelling boy was crying. “Mitch, don’t die. S-someone’s gotta be on their way. Come on, just please live. Mitch, you can do it, man,” James, the one who was yelling, sobbed. He held Mitch in his lap and caressed his hair. “James…” Mitch began, gurgling. “Mitch! T-talk to me, bud. I’m right here.” Mitch smiled sadly and motioned for James to lower. James did