The projector was still flickering with images of the fictional undead, but no one was looking at the screen. All eyes were on the scarlet pool expanding on the plaza tiles below.
"I have to go down there," I said, my voice surprisingly steady even as my hands shook.
"Are you crazy, Noah?" Jacob grabbed my arm, his face pale. "That guy has a knife! The cops are already there!"
"The kid is hemorrhaging!" I snapped, pulling away. "He has less than three minutes before his brain shuts down from blood loss. The police are focused on the suspect, not the wound!"
I lunged for the Classroom First Aid Kit—a small, orange plastic box that usually only held Band-Aids and Povidone-iodine. I knew it wouldn't be enough for a neck wound, so I grabbed a stack of clean microfiber rags from the science lab cabinet and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
"Noah, wait!" Mark called out, but I was already out the door.
The hallway was a bottleneck of panic. Students from other sections were sprinting toward the fire exits, screaming about a
"killer on the loose." I fought against the tide, my shoulder hitting the wall as I dove down the stairwell three steps at a time.
I burst through the main lobby doors into the sweltering summer heat. The smell of copper was overwhelming now. The police officer had the intruder pinned to the ground near the flagpole, but the Grade 7 boy was lying alone, his small body twitching in the dirt.
"I'm a student! I'm here to help!" I shouted at the second officer who turned his weapon toward me.
I didn't wait for his permission. I dropped to my knees beside the boy. The blood was bright red and pulsing-----an arterial spray. My Vet Med training flashed in my mind. Apply direct pressure. Do not let go.
I jammed the stack of rags against the side of his neck. The white fabric turned deep crimson in seconds.
"Stay with me, kid," I whispered, leaning my full weight into my hands. "Don't look at the blood. Just look at me."
His eyes were wide, rolling back into his head. Around us, the school was a war zone of screams, but in this small circle of dust and blood, I was the only thing keeping him alive.
My hands were soaked in crimson, the heat of the boy's blood seeping through the rags and into my skin. I didn't let go. In emergency medicine, they call this the Golden Hour----the window of time where every second determines if a patient lives or dies.
"Pressure! Keep the pressure on!" the police officer barked, his radio crackling with frantic reports.
The distance between the school and the nearest hospital felt like miles, but finally, the wailing siren of an ambulance cut through the chaos of the screaming students.
The paramedics jumped out before the vehicle even fully stopped. One of them, a man with tired eyes, knelt beside me.
"Good job, kid. Move on three. One, two, three!"
I pulled my hands away. My fingers were stiff and cramping. I watched as they lifted the boy----whose name I still didn't know---. He looked so small, his face the color of ash.
"He's in critical condition," the paramedic shouted to his partner as they loaded him into the back. "He's lost too much. Hypovolemic shock Healthline is setting in!"
The doors slammed shut, and the ambulance sped away, leaving me standing in the middle of the plaza.
I looked down at my school uniform. The white fabric was ruined, stained with the life of a Grade 7 student I had tried to save. My classmates were watching from the windows of the Peridot section, their faces silhouettes against the sun.
Jacob and Mark ran out to meet me, but I couldn't speak. My mind was still tracing the anatomy of the wound. I wanted to be a vet to save animals from pain, but today, the world had shown me a different kind of brutality.
"Noah... you're shaking," Mark whispered, handing me a water bottle.
I wasn't just shaking, I was haunte. The crazy guy was already in a police car, but the silence that followed the ambulance was louder than the screams from earlier.
The school was no longer a place of learning----it was a crime scene Legal Information Institute.
The sirens faded into the distance, leaving a deafening silence over the campus. The sun was still beating down, but I felt a sudden chill as the adrenaline began to wear off.
"Noah... your hands," Jacob whispered, reaching out but hesitant to touch the crimson stains on my arms.
I looked down. The blood had already started to dry, turning a dark, rusty brown in the heat. It felt tight against my skin, like a second, unwanted layer of clothing.
The School Principal Official Gazette finally appeared, his face a mask of disbelief. He wasn't talking about proper uniforms anymore. He looked at the blood on the plaza, then at me------a Grade 11 student holding a depleted first aid kit.
"Everyone... go back to your rooms," his voice cracked over the PA system. "Parents have been notified. Classes are officially suspended. Please wait for your guardians to fetch you."
We walked back to the Peridot classroom like ghosts. The movie, The Walking Dead, was still frozen on the screen-----a grainy image of a survivor hiding in a hospital. I walked over and pulled the plug. The room went dark.
"Is he going to make it, Noah?" Sarah asked, her voice trembling. The whole class was looking at me, expecting an answer because I was the one who wanted to be a Vet Med.
I thought about the severed artery and the way the boy's eyes had glazed over. I wanted to give them hope.
"He's in critical condition," I said, sitting heavily at my desk. "The hospital is his only chance now."
As the hallways filled with the sound of crying and parents arriving, I stared at my reviewer. I had always wanted to save lives, but I never realized that sometimes, no matter how hard you press down on a wound, the world just keeps bleeding.
The ride home was a blur of sirens and worried faces. When I finally reached our gate, the summer heat felt suffocating, like the air itself was trying to choke me.
"Noah! Diyos ko, what happened to you?" my mother cried, her eyes wide as she saw my ruined uniform.
"I'm okay, Ma," I muttered, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "It's not my blood."
I walked straight to the bathroom and locked the door. I turned the tap on full blast, the cold water splashing against the sink. I held my hands under the stream, watching as the dried crimson began to rehydrate and swirl down the drain.
I scrubbed until my skin turned raw and pink, but in the reflection of the mirror, I could still see the boy's terrified eyes. My Vet Med reviewer had taught me about hemostasis and arterial repair, but it hadn't taught me how to wash away the smell of copper.
I sat on the edge of the tub, my head in my hands. The Science Section Official Gazette was supposed to be about logic and facts, yet nothing about today felt logical. Why did that man jump? Why did he choose a child?
My phone buzzed on the counter. A message from the class group chat:
"Guys, the news says the kid is still in the OR. Status. Critical praying for him."
I leaned back against the cold tiles. I wanted to be a doctor to stop the pain, but today, I realized that some wounds go deeper than the skin. The physical recovery would take time for the boy, but for me, the mental scars were just beginning to form.
I closed my eyes and could still feel the pulse of that boy's life fading under my fingertips.