She couldn't pry her eyes away from his flattened brown hair and his elongated chin.
He looked so different in this light; his eyes were wider, and their fine brown color a shade, a pinch darker.
The glass between them creaked and groaned. The flames of hell waltzed behind him, framing his pale skin against their flickering light.
There was nothing behind her. It was clear, white space, silent, except for the ringing in her own ears. It was insignificant.
She had always thought that heaven would be better than this.
He did not glare at her or smile, or laugh, or cry. He watched her, his gaze wavering ever so slightly.
It gave her chills.
Hell had treated him good, the fire matched the one burning in his eyes.
She averted her gaze from his, she feared him, hated him.
She had named him Adam because she loved the way he had changed her life for the better.
That was years ago, when he had been a child; when he had been carefree and naïve and innocent.
Before he had killed...
She wondered when it was that a child learned evil.
Was it when they stole their first cookie or told their first lie? Or were they born with it already inside of them? Was it like a third degree burn, where it festers and boils and scars over but never heals completely?
Perhaps it was a shadow, where everyone has one but they only remember that it's there once they catch a glimpse of it, out of the corner of their eye.
Her maternal instincts yearned to hold him, and still she gagged whenever that instinct gripped her.
He hadn't waited. He had killed her first.
He made her watch from heaven as he brandished those guns inside that elementary school.
She spent her first night in heaven weeping.
She heard him chuckle through the glass. His half-smile haunted her.
Once, she had loved that smile.
He looked pleased with himself, even as the hellfire whipped towards him, trying to tell him that it was time to go.
She watched her son as he was eaten by the flames.
The heat melted the glass but she did not cower as the demon pulled her son away back into its cackling depths.
She sat, staring at the empty room.
She missed the days when she could look upon her son with pride instead of regret, and security instead of fear.
With love instead of hate.
She stood, and walked out of the room, halfway back to heaven, halfway down to hell.
She was dead.
But she still had duties she needed to attend to.
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137,435 Literary Works • 672,020 Reviews
Hey, blablabl92 here!
Great poem! I can actually visualize the hatred, the sorrow, the love in her eyes. The flames in her eyes when she was mad. Then the tears in her eyes when she was sad. Then the sympathy in her eyes when she loved her son.
I love it how she remembers what he was like as a little boy. "When he was carefree, and naïve, and innocent." That was a great line. I also liked the line, "when they stole their first cookie? Or told their first lie?" AWESOME line! This was a truly great poem.
Keep writing so I can keep reading,
Blablabl92
Hey Emmylou
This poem was pretty good, and you wrote from a POV in an excellent way.
However, this is one of those things I think it's better left untouched. Just forgotten.
Aside from the aforementioned, this was the only problem I had with it. What duties? I don't get it. Fumbled way to end the poem.
Cheers
Birkhoff
I don't really know what to do with this since it can be such a touchy and controversial subject. The Sandy Hook Shooting was a tragedy that shocked the nation, and the world. I remember my father posting on Facebook that day, "Hug your children close tonight."
You always wonder, what's going through these peoples heads. More people focus on the mind of the killer rather than the victims, I think, because it's easier. They get angry, and they need something to take the anger out on so they spend a lot of time thinking up scenarios to make the killer fit their profile.
You, my friend, have given us another side of the story.
You wrote it very well, and I can easily imagine that this is what went through Nancy's mind as she watched from heaven as her son transformed into something unrecognizable. In a way, I am somewhat glad that she was dead. Not that he killed her first, of course, I could never be glad about that. But I am glad that she didn't have to see this in person, or deal with the fallout of her son's actions.
I'm not saying that this is perfect, because, let's face it, nothing or no-one is. I would have liked to see a little more uniformity in the stanzas, I think that they could have been more equal. But that is the reviewer in me speaking.
Even though I would like more uniformity, I don't think that you should change any part of this. It would take some of the emotion and character away, it would take away what you are trying to say.
This was the hardest review I've ever written, and truth be told it wasn't much of a review. I only hope that this helps you in some manner, now or in the future.