My My, My…

My Staring at a sink filled with blood.
My, The train rang twice, stopping beside the empty platform.
My… The bullet that finally caught up with the skin.

Looking outside the window of the house into the slightly bright early morning sun, she took a deep breath. The kitchen was clean, spotless, just as the rest of the house was. The sign up front warned the nearby neighbours of what was happening. Not many of them liked what was happening. They didn’t let their children pass by the sidewalk, for fear of the new. As the commonality of the day passed by, the parcel of the village where the house rested had grown even more uncommon. Undisturbed by the avarice of her decision, she stood there, palm over her belly. Whispering to the ghost that resided within her, she calmed down the kicks. The ghost was new to the body, and of course, there had to be a little resistance. It was nothing a soft, soothing voice could calm down. The gentle touch of her palm worked like a charm, as she leaned on the counter, still staring out from within the kitchen’s pale walls and salmon curtains. She was going to miss this house, but nevertheless, it was something she wanted more, that drove her to act upon it. The lonesome picture frame carrying the unborn seeds of what was once her life. It was the only physical memory she had of the life she’d once lead. No longer. The page was turned and the ink was laid, eternally scarring both the pen and paper with a loss and a gain. It was obvious to the many which of the implements she was. The ghost in her stomach proved it true. She never really thought about it, and she doubted she would ever. With that underway, she took her little purse and key, and walked out the back door, locking it but leaving the solitary key under the carpet that once shone a wonderful “welcome”, but no longer. It no longer welcomed her foot as she stepped backwards, allowing her a slip, forcing her to fall front-first into the concrete. The neighbours dialled 911, as the blood streamed.

“My…” she uttered as the doctors called the time of death at 3:07pm. She couldn’t utter another single word as the paramedics rushed her tear-stained, blood-stained body to the emergency room.

The house was initially a mess. With the unfortunate events that led to his depression, he found solace in the chaos. It reminded him that there were worse things around him than what had occurred. It worked for a while. The music did too, as he would listen to the same set of songs every day. In the afternoon, the sun would wake him up for the usual 5 hours of day he would spend awake. Sleeping was another option, since it allowed for his escape from the reality of what had happened to him. His once proud and happy life, torn apart by some strange man with whom she’d met at a friend’s party. He recalled it was months ago. Years. Centuries. Ages. Eternities. It was long ago, that night he stormed out of the house, taking all his things. In anger, he was ready to take on the world, leaving his shattered past behind. With so much inappropriate fury, he’d spent all his money. Buying whatever it is that would give him immediate gratification. The therapist was too expensive and he quit it. So were the drugs. All he had left was fast food take out, cigarettes, and whiskey. The apartment was loaded with it. He knew at the back of his mind that his actions would make way for something devilishly insane. In his malevolence towards the demon, the traitor, and their ghost, he bought a gun. Storming up towards his former house, he thought twice, dropping the gun into a random garbage can and went home to drink himself to sleep. And he did. Waking up, he realized the errors of his ways and fixed up the house. Placing on his best suit, he walked into the bathroom and, after shaving and washing his face for a clean cut image, he delved the razor into both his wrists, stumbled over to the bed, lay there and bled to death. It, however, was no reason for him to frown. His face held the grin until he was buried.

“My…” he uttered as the last of the life in him drained. With no more force to speak, or even move his body, he simply stared over at the picture of her. Their picture together at the beach, it was beautiful, and he smiled. When the paramedics found him, they clocked the death at 3:07pm, judging by the age of the blood and the scars.

Bullets whizzed by, pinging off the metal crates he hid behind. The outpost was under attack and they were overwhelmed. There was no backup, of course, since they were not supposed to be there anyway. It was a failed mission, and they all knew that if the mission failed, they would all be killed by the tiny implant of C4 explosives beneath his rib cage, almost directly above the heart. It was no use fighting. They would run out of ammo faster than a dead battery’s charging capabilities. Taking out the picture of what was to be his future wife and child, he let out a tear. This was his last mission, and he fucked up, big time. He wondered if he hadn’t stolen her from that squeegee bastard, if she’d be happy. At least slightly happier at that time, since she wouldn’t have to worry about the death of her fiancé who was in combat. He stole someone else’s life, and now, his own was being taken from him. Stolen by some thin, frail, dark skinned, underdressed, sixteen year old ‘soldier’. The gunfire drew closer and closer as he stared deeply, with his eyes tearing up. His friend, Justin, pulled closer, staring at the picture he held. Both of them knew what their fate was, and there was only one thing to do when one knows that death approaches fast; distract one’s self.

“Who’s that?” his friend, Justin asked.

“My…” he began, and never finished as the bullet tore into the back of his skull. Justin noticed the watch, as the body of his lifeless comrade fell down. He clocked the death at 3:07pm before the C4 implanted in the body of his comrade set off, killing both of them as it triggered his own C4 implant.

She waited in the hospital, taking the news that both her fiancé and ex-boyfriend were dead, as well as suffering the news that her baby had died. She jumped off the top floor of the hospital, bible in hand. She forewent the words as she plummeted into the abyss where she could only hope to find them all. She was my roommate, as I felt it was, almost an eternity ago.

(C)Anachronic Works 2011


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