Noah's POV
Mama's on the ground.
Shaking.
Why's she shaking like that?
Why's her skin turning purple?
I crawl over to her. My knees scrape on the tar-rough ground, my palms sting, but I don't care. She's making this sound—like a scream stuck halfway in her throat.
I grab her hand. It's too cold. Mama's never cold.
"Mama?" I whisper.
She screams.
Loud. Loud enough to break the sky.
I flinch so hard I wet myself. I hate that I do, but I can't stop it. My whole body's shaking now. I scoot closer. Her eyes are wide and her mouth opens like she wants to say something but nothing comes out except spit and noise and pain.
"Mama! Mama, please!" I beg.