Stroke I woke up to the sound of screaming, a shrill, harsh sound in the five o clock hour of the cold,crisp morning. Racing downstairs, I almost slip and fall on surprisingly wet hardwood. Looking down tells me it is blood, the ominous, threatening crimson trailing behind the kitchen wall. My instincts kicking in, I wield a fireplace poker as an Arthurian sword. I wasn't going to let this intrusive bastard kill my parents, I thought angrily, swinging around a corner of the bland white kitchen wall. What I saw screwed with my overemotional mind forever: my mom was keeled over and clutching the granite counter for dear #life. In shorter terms, my mom was having a stroke. "DAD GET DOWN HERE NOW!!!!!" Those were the last words my mother ever heard me say. I was seventeen.