Redemption

Friday #11

The soldiers – if they can be called so – were asleep. The inanimate concrete fortifications that occupied the vicinity could give no warnings to alarm a security breach because they lacked either the motivation or the ability.

Amidst the grey and black, the dancing silver flames as they dwindled across the limitless night sky, people proved that they never changed.

The guards were powerless to stop anyone, and the prisoners were powerless to escape anything.

Through the closing shadows, engulfed by the dying twilight, I marched forward.

The purple sky loomed eerie above the structure.

It wasn't impressively tall as any other buildings that stood around its grandeur. As mundane as it seemed, the door refused to remain shut and secure, giving access to anyone who sought sanctuary.

I walked upstairs to the top floor. Many doors meant many options. There were some that I had to discard and one that I could cherish.

But the footsteps had preordained the path. It chose for me.

It was now leading me to a place more visible, practical, and real. I stood right before them – or I was on my way. Either way, it only seemed to be a matter of time.

The mother finally noticed – she hurriedly pushed the knob down but was delayed by the rigid paper mass she clutched and refused to let go. She almost made it in - there was a gap in between, like a jaw, welcomed her back home. The lights seemed to be dead on the inside – only shadows planted deep under the basis of a mother's nest.

I grabbed onto her shoulder and yanked her away from the door.

She still managed to stand, but through her terrified look, the sweat unleashed despite the wintry weather, the rapid heaving of her breath, the emotion that her face implied, her soul was exposed naked in my eyes. She attempted to take a step backward, away, and into the sanctuary where she might finally acquire the peace she desired.

I felt the shivers crawling up her bones along her fragile arms. But whose was it, truly?

She screamed, cried, asked me, what I wanted from them.

I placed a shiv in between her head and her neck.

And when it happened, she made the most reasonable response that she could provide at the moment. She tried to scream. Her attempts weren't very successful—only a pitiful high-pitch shriek.

And here we go again, I thought. Her pulse was beating furiously, and the blade felt it, so did my fingers. The shiv was barely holding her blood from getting released, and nobody would appreciate such bloodshed.

I quickly pushed her over the threshold, and she collapsed upon a grey carpet.

She tried to shout. She pushed me away. But I applied my weight upon her body, and all she managed to do was twisting and bouncing both of her wrists in all directions existent.

I heaved a gentle sigh, the breath composed of my faults and my concerns, the decrepit meanings of intangible remorse that slowly killed me from the inside. Echoes of apologies freed from my ribcage and emancipated into the bottomless void, where specks of dust danced midair upon agents of darkness.

I held the shiv and twisted it clockwise.

She resisted – agony gave her the strength, ironically enough. The sound that she made was barely recognizable, but the attempt worked better this time.