Shadows will breathe

Shadows will breathe
"Careful. Evil has a way of making friends with the good and dragging them into the darkness." ~ Dr. Al Robbins

Monday, July 30, 2012


Nightmare #52:
What used to soothe her now became an unbearable current of pain to her ears – the crickets stirring up their racket; that dog yapping in a distant yard; even those bullfrogs by the pond would not stop talking, not for a second. 

The day was slipping away and still those birds flew back and forth, back and forth, back and forth – their incessant chirping echoing like a grocery store check-out scanner.

All the sweet sounds of summer that used to comfort her now infuriated her.
It was because he was gone.
And what joy was there in anything now?

Krista wiped her eyes and stared-down two rabbits playing on the lawn.  Their stupid game of cat and mouse annoyed her, and she was sure if she had to watch them for another minute, she’d go mad.

Or was she already mad?

Crazy, yes.  But also angry.  Angry that he left her here all alone.  That he had lied to her, promising that he’d always look out for her.  Angry at herself for loving someone so much.  

Maybe she was just numb?
Had been ever since he passed on.  Ever since that gunman snuffed out his breath.  That's who she was mad at.  That's who should be suffering.  Not her.  

She needed to go back inside.  She shouldn’t have come out here to begin with - not yet.  
It wasn’t safe.

She wasn’t ready - no matter what the therapist told her. 

She ran to the door, slammed it shut and locked herself in. 

Still, the buzzing in her ears wouldn’t let up, not even in the quiet of the house.  She cried from the pain that resonated in her head; the ache that jutted to the back of her neck; she choked on the sadness of her heart; and she prayed for it all to stop ~ begged the God she was angry at to make it all stop. But the ringing would not let up, just kept on like a finger stuck to a doorbell. 

It was all up to her.
She had to silence it. 

With an eerie calm, she searched her pocket for the razor. 

A tear of relief trickled down her face as her fingertips felt the cold metal shaver.

She pulled out the shiny object, stared at it and promised herself this would be the last time.

Krista started in the crease of her arm. 

With each cut, the ringing in her ears got slightly softer; the tightness in her chest let loose.
She sawed and sawed at her skin - each cut deeper than the last - until she fell onto the tiled floor, like a drunk, broken after a three-day bender.  The silence was golden.  She sighed with contentment and sucked on one of her gashes - the taste of blood made her woozy. 

“I miss you, Eric,” she whispered and licked another wound.


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