A/N: Heh… I didn't mean to start up a new story. I wanted to write something new, like a one-shot but it's possible that it won't be since I'm considering writing more. Got a few ideas for the plot but shruggs Tell me what you think though, it might help me in making a decision ;) Thanks a bunch!

Lost Touch

There was so much blood. I didn't think there was so much blood in me. I stared at the red on my hands, white spots beginning to dance in front of my eyes. What did I get myself into?

I had chosen that morning to go into the bank for a withdrawal. Lately, I was always short of cash. No matter how hard I worked, there just wasn't enough to make ends meet. My mother had died 18 years ago, giving birth to me. My father fell into depression, struggling to raise his two boys and one girl. He made it to seven more years and then died from alcohol overdose. I don't remember that much of him really. Cassie was 26 now, living somewhere in New York and working various jobs. She bought Gregory, 19, and I an apartment five years ago. Most of the money she earns is transferred to our account so that we have enough to pay the sleazy landlord and survive in Los Angeles. I had just graduated high school two weeks ago and picked up a full time job.

Gregory was the smart one. He had gotten a full scholarship to attend a community college in San Francisco, and was staying at a friend's house for the time being due to the convenience. Gregory was going to be someone; he was going to go places. Cassie and I are very proud of him. It's just the apartment has gotten very quiet and lonely without his company.

So there I was, third in line to see the teller when suddenly three black-clothed men stormed in. Robbers. Criminals. There was a lot of yelling and tensions were on high. I don't remember much. I just recall being on the ground, my face pressed against the marble floor. The sandstone marble was cool on my cheek. I didn't dare look up.

The SWAT team arrived in ten minutes flat to their luck however. Negotiations were being talked through when one of the girls tried to make a run for it. The silly girl was scared, deathly pale.

I stared, fascinated. So much blood…

Tearing my gaze away from the crimson, I glanced at the woman behind me. She was screaming in terror, tears running down her moist face. I felt sorry for her, but at least it was over now. She'll go home to her family and it'll be all right. I thought of Cassie and Gregory briefly, my eyes sweeping across the marble floor where papers fluttered by. I turned my head, unable to look at the security guard's body that lay in a pool of blood, strewn over an upturned desk.

My head was pounding so loudly in my ears. I couldn't hear myself think. The noises in the background were beginning to dull away. My vision was loosing focus. Slipping… I was slipping…

I stumbled against the cold, smooth wall. I could feel sharp pangs of pain but that too soon disappeared.

"He needs an ambulance right away! Pronto! Hang in there, son. We're going to get you some help."

It was a man's voice. I squinted toward the direction of the sound, only to see a white blur.

"Th-the girl. Is… she alright? The men…they-" The words wouldn't come out to my frustration. I struggled for a moment to articulate, feeling something warm and sticky dribble from my lips and down my chin.

"Yes, she's okay. A bit frightened but no physical harm was done."

Good, I thought with relief. I closed my tired eyes, wanting to just fall asleep.

"Don't fall asleep yet, we need you to stay conscious until the paramedics get here." I heard a faint edge of fear in his words, struggling to maintain a calm tone.

Why, I wanted to ask. The word stuck in my throat, unwilling to come out. I fought open my eyes. Distorted shapes and colors greeted me.

"That was a brave move you pulled. I bet tomorrow's papers are going to regard you as a hero."

I stared at him. Me? A hero?

The words sunk in. Won't Gregory and Cassie be proud? For all of my eighteen years of life I never once did anything extraordinary. I was always the ordinary, the one with the average grades and the average looks.

Me? A hero?

My heart fluttered. Finally… I was finally a 'somebody'.

"A hero…" I whispered. And ever so suddenly, darkness claimed me.

I woke up.

"What the hell?" I gasped, feeling cold sweat and dread. So it was a dream. It had seemed all too real. I ran a hand quickly through my shaggy, short, brown hair. My eyes quickly flew to the mirror over the dresser. My normally tan face was drained of all color, sickly pale, and my pupils were dilated, the green showing only barely at the rims.

It had been a disturbingly vivid dream. I shuddered, throwing the white covers off. It was time for me to get to work- a nice way to take my mind off death, blood and all those other great stuff.

I quickly dressed into my jeans and black shirt, brushed my teeth and washed my face. I was out the door in ten minutes. It was routine; I would hurry down the stairs, walk for a few blocks, and grab a cup of coffee from the local café. Strangely enough, no one bumped or pushed into me today, which isn't possible considering how crowded the streets were. I shrugged off the chills. It was the starting of a great day despite the bad dreams.

Only dreams. That's all they are, I told myself firmly.

"The three men who had entered into Bank of America on 31st have now been identified. Two are in custody but the third is found missing, police believe that he is on the run. If you have any information on his whereabouts please contact-"

I stopped dead on my tracks, frozen. A cool wind blew pass me, and the hairs at the back of my neck rose. The tall, green trees rustled softly in the background and there was loud chatter among the street walkers. Abruptly, the noise disappeared, replaced by my rapidly beating heartbeat. Slowly retracing my steps, I stopped in front of the line of television sets in an electronic store. The newscaster stared solemnly out of the set, first glancing down onto her sheaf of papers.

"The Robertson family would like to pay their deepest thanks to the stranger who had boldly risked his life to save sixteen-year-old Jamie Robertson. Police have now identified the man as young Ryan Stentz-"

My heart leapt to my throat. Perhaps that dream…

"The eighteen-year-old had jumped in front of the girl, taking in several bullets when Jamie Robertson had made a desperate attempt of escape. The robbers will be charged for first-degree manslaughter and attempted robbery. The Stentz family has yet to be contacted-"

No. This was ridiculous. It couldn't be true. I stared at the screen in shock. I couldn't possibly be dead.

… could I?