Your POV:
We went to the mall with Minho, Brenda, Teresa, and Thomas after lunch. We were all talking until there was noise. A gun shot was heard. Suddenly three men came into the store with guns. Screaming. Lots of screaming. Before we were able to escape, a gun was pointed our way. They pulled the trigger. He fell to the ground.
"Newt!" I yell kneeling beside him. I grab his lifeless body and hug it. "Newt please, please don't die."
"(y/n)! We have to go!" Minho yells. "We'll take him to the hospital."
Thomas picks up Newt's body and I follow him. We all drive to the hospital quickly. Hours passed.
"Tell me he's okay!" I practically yell when the doctor for Newt comes out.
"Sorry, Mrs. Whitman, but he didn't make it," he says writing something down on his clipboard. I shook my head. Tears fell.
"No," I finally say. Thomas pulls me in for a hug. I cried. All day.
They pulled the trigger.

I shoot up in bed. I breath heavily as I look around. My room. I'm in my room. Chuck was crying. I guess that's why woke me. I got out of bed and walked over to him. His crying slowly stopped as I picked him up and took him back to my bed. When I checked the time, it was 11pm.
Why was I dreaming of the past? My dreams of the past stopped months ago. But there were four words stuck in my head. Four specific words.
Band-aids Don't Fix Bulletholes