A Murder

  She was dead. He knew it was too late. That didn't stop him from putting pressure on the wound like he had been taught. She was cold and pale, and the blood was no longer leaving her chest.

  He pressed his hands over the gash, knowing he wasn't doing any good but refusing to accept it.

  He thought Iida was there at some point. He couldn't see properly, everything was blurred. There was wetness on his face, but he didn't care. He didn't care because there was wetness on his hands, a terrible red stain.

  Soon after the Iida smudge left running, a dark smudge entered his tear stained vision.

  The smudge said something.

  "What?" He asked.

  "Come away. There's nothing you can do. Come on kid, please come away." The smudge begged.

  He seemed sad. Was he crying too? He had just lost one of his students.

  "I can't, I have to try, please I have to try, she can't die, not yet, please." He said.

  "Come away my friend, please, you cannot help her anymore."

  He pushed them both away, the red stain spreading to them. He put his hands back onto the terrible wound. Her heart was still, her chest didn't rise or fall.

  He wiped his eyes, the stain now on his face. He could see her, the tear tracks on her cheeks, the shock in her eyes, her mouth hanging open in a soundless scream.

  He could smell it, the red stain, the blood the horrible blood. It invaded his senses, he could taste it in the air, it was everywhere, on him, her, them, the floor and the knife.

  He stopped.

  He hadn't seen it.

  The moment he'd seen her, his friend, his love, dead on the ground he ran to her, already cold.

  He hadn't seen the blade. The sharp red blade. The horrible tool by which she was dead.

  My god she's dead. He thought.

  I'll never laugh with her.

  I'll never work with her.

  I'll never walk with her.

  She's gone.

  Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead.

  Uraraka was dead.

  And Izuku was too late.

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