Behind Closed Doors

eerie reality

It won't hurt for I'll make it quick,
place me on your wrist and watch me slip,
I'll twist and turn and dance around,
until you lay lifeless on the ground

________________________

4:59 am

"your time is up ma'am", a women stated as she walked inside the hallow room, she seemed good at her job, a little too good

my puffy eyes and strawberry nose had little affect on her, it seemed as if she wasn't fazed at all

It was rather obvious that she was very used to the pleads, to the begging of people asking for several minutes more, just to gaze at their loved ones on the other side of the mirror, that now I was well aware that my pleads would fall onto deaf ears, and therefore I refrained

dressed in a police jersey, she seemed almost bored, unamused. her muddy shoes leaving crumbs on the marble flooring as she advanced towards me

I simply nod my head, unconsciously glancing back at the wall separating us, somehow, the restraints on his wrists didn't faze me anymore, the isolation didn't hurt

I didn't feel pain

I couldn't feel pain

because of the anger raging inside me

and that frightened me

I pulled myself together and stepped out of the room, almost hurriedly; as if afraid I would change my mind. shutting the door. the officer walked behind me, a little to close to my liking

the corridors narrowed down as I walked down the aisle, my body growing heavier with each step I took, I was tired

but the eerie reality was that I wasn't the tired I used to be after playing basketball with Lucas, or forcing Noah to one of my princess tea parties

I wasn't the kind of tired that could be worn off with a good nights sleep or be cured with some ibuprofen

I was the sort of tired that could only be subsided once I could get closure

once I could discern between the truth and the lies

only then

or maybe- just maybe-

once I too was dead

I wonder how they felt- in that exact moment, you see each day we have 86400 seconds, each second just as precious as the last; and yet, once you come to think of it, it's really not all that special as we waste it over silly things, each second brings in new opportunities, new dreams, new destinations

new disasters, new pains, new betrayals

new lies

I wonder how they spent their last seconds, their final moments in this malevolent world, I wonder if mum was cooking, if she was cooking  me the meal I had specifically begged her to make, I had been pleading for weeks for her to bake me a lasagne, her lasagne tastes out of this world, it's so rich in both flavor and spice.

Dad doesn't like spicy food; therefore, she refrains from making such dishes, honestly she never really even cooks, but she had promised me the night before that she would, I wonder if seeing them frightened her, if she had brunt her hand?

I wonder if she was mixing the stew, or boiling the lasagne when they had attacked

If she had put up a fight, If she hit back, if she tried to run, to escape

If she screamed, had shouted, if she had died hopeless, aware that no one would come to her rescue, for that is the worst kind of death

I had overheard the paramedics state that her body was unrecognizable, I wonder when they tortured her, if she trembled with each stab that sliced her flesh, if her tears had helped the blood slide down her cheeks