I saw her in the shadows, lights out, face dimmed. The window was broken, glass scattered on the rotting floor. Some of the wood was poking out from the carpet because of years without treatment and she never wanted to get new flooring. It was too much money, she told me. I didn’t mind; money was money to her. I asked her one day if she wanted to get carpeting instead and maybe worry about the floors later. She didn’t want that either. She would just laugh every time I asked her and push the thought away. I would’ve paid for the floor, but she still thought it was horrible to buy something you only walk on, nothing more.
So I walked into the home we owned. I had every right to be there; there was no one there to say I couldn’t anymore. She was just right there, right in front of me. She didn’t care that I walked into that home with my keys in my hand and a gun in my pocket. It was smoking from the shot I took at the bars an hour before, just a warning shot. No one was injured; I was even shocked that the man across from me wasn’t hit by the bullet. Nevertheless, I walked away and felt a chill in the air.
She wasn’t really moving. She swayed a bit by the wind coming in from the outside, but that was all the movement she made. It was like the first night we met, the first night I met my love. She told me that she loved me at that moment, and I said it was insane. There was no mention of love at first sight in previous relations in our town. But I do, she whispered. I don’t believe you, I said. And from then on, we felt the loveless air circle our loving bodies and watched the shining stars glitter in awe. I wish the lights would turn on in our home, but every light bulb was burnt out; she didn’t want to live on fake light.
So in this dark home, I wondered if that body really was her. So I called out her name, and waited for the wind to pass through our home again. She just stood there, motionless, aimlessly staring in my direction. She might’ve been looking the other way, but I didn’t pay attention to her perspective. I heard noises from other rooms, but it was only the rats she brought up since she was a little girl. I love them just like I love you, she said. I still didn’t believe her, and I just watched as she let the rats eat out of her hands. Don’t their bites hurt? I asked. She only shook her head and waited until they ate everything.
I called out to her again, but still there was no response. The wind played tricks on my mind and I heard a voice. It was behind me, but I thought it was hers. So I turned around and faced the dark wall with no intentions on living. It was this voice that kept my mind off of her. It was telling me to run away, to find someone to help me, but I didn’t acknowledge its advice; it was only a voice. I reached into my pocket and heard her voice now telling me to not do it; it was the first time I had the gun. There was a man struggling to breathe because he was hit by a car, and I pointed the gun at him. Blood spilled everywhere: under the cracks, inside the wheels of the vehicle, on his clothing. I wanted to put him out of his misery and to let him die a painless death. She made me wait until help arrived before they pronounced him dead.
So I told this voice of theirs that I was not interested in their advice. I took the gun out from my pocket and pointed it at the dark shadow casted on this wall. I swear that it moved, and I shot. It was embedded into the wall and only the slightest ‘ting’ echoed through our silent home. I walked over to the shadow and grazed over the now bullet hole inside the wall and stared as the shadow continued to move. I forgot about her that was behind me, and gripped my gun again. The voice, it said to protect myself and to leave. I didn’t listen to that wind again; it was merely the wind. So when the arm of my loved one moved, I swiftly moved and fired four shots. I hit her at least once; that much I know. But she did not move, did not drop to the floor in agony. She did not do anything.
The smoking gun was now out of ammunition and I stared down at the ghastly thing. When it dropped to our broken floor, it made an indent in the floor. I could feel my feet now being poked by the wood under our precious carpet and I started to walk in pain towards her. There was no emotions from her, no movements that she was actually struck by the bullet. “Dear?” I whispered. I asked her if she was okay, but she made no response. She just stood there, blood dripping from her body. It was only then that I realized she was never standing in that place when I arrived.
I stood in front of her, feeling some of the blood of hers mix with my own. My mind started to tweak, my body started to shake. I felt no tears come to mind when I saw her there. I wondered what the last words I said to her when she was still alive. Perhaps it was I love you, or maybe it was merely a fateful goodbye. I felt the wind again beside me and I looked out into the streets. The lights were shining bright. So I looked back at her and stared in awe, just like the stars on the night when we first met.
When I looked at her, she was covered in blood. It was from the bullets I put in her, the ones that didn’t kill her. I asked myself about those bullets hitting her, not the man, but there was no use thinking of something that trivial. There was one that lodged in her head, so blood poured out like a sparkling waterfall waiting for someone to admire the beauty, and another in her neck. I’m glad she never felt the bullets hit any part of her, for they would be painful; I believe in no pain in life or death. Her face was peaceful, staring long and hard into my own cold, dreadful eyes. I couldn’t move from her stare, and I certainly could not call someone for help.
They arrived moments after the gunfire echoed into the sky. They ran into our home, trampled on the rotting floor, and threw me to the ground. I was screaming for her to save me, to help me from my own pain. They told me to be quiet, and I continued to cry for her help. She would always help me in my troubling times. But the wind let her calmly sway again and her voice never returned. Her eyes just stared into mine, perhaps wanting me to save her. I walked away, telling them to save her, to maybe let her live again! They told me there was no use. I looked into our broken window and she was just hanging there, waiting for her own answer.
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Created June 8th, 2009
