Moments of weakness

"The pain will finally stop."

Goose bumps erupt all over my skin as the cold winter breeze

coming in through the bathroom window seeps through the thin linen fibers of my

worn out jacket. My teeth rattle frantically within my mouth and my heart

weighs heavy within my chest. I rub my hands together in a feeble attempt to

seek warmth but stop almost immediately and stumble backwards with a choked sob

as the sticky blood on my fingers makes its presence known.

"Just do it"

I never meant to hurt her. She was never meant to be there. Why did

she have to walk into the room and interrupt me? None of this was meant to

involve her. Why, why, why? All I needed was a few minutes to myself in

silence. Lord knows it is not a lot to ask for but in true me fashion I could

not successfully do anything without hurting other people.

The deafening silence of the house contrasts comically against

the unbearable raging voices in my bed. I know I need to get out. No one will

believe that this was an accident. Even if I try to defend myself in court,

there is not much hope for a black man who shot and killed a white woman. Foster

child or not. I violently hit my clenched fists against my thighs in sheer

desperation and pain. The weight of the gun I had fired just moments prior

burns a hole in my jacket pocket. I need to get out. Now.

I hurriedly grab my phone and keys off the bathroom sink with fiercely trembling hands and take one look in the mirror. I wish I hadn’t because what meets my eyes was something worthy of being in a horror movies. Eyes wide open, red rimmed and dilated along with smudged blood splatters all across the left half of my face is what I am met with when I take a glimpse at my face in the mirror. That’s her blood right there. I quickly swallow the bile steadily rising up my throat at the thought of her blood all over my skin and rush out of the room. My heart beats faster than it ever has had to and my head feels heavy as a million and one thoughts cross my mind at every given instant.

 I know that I should have ignored the voices whispering and encouraging me to pull the trigger but in the moment it felt like the only option. The gun had oddly felt comforting when I had initially lifted it and pointed it at my head. Every memory of every trial and tribulation had been brought to the forefront of my mind and the pain had taken an all-time high and reached peaks I had not known were possible. My eyes which I could see in the mirror above the bathroom sink had looked crazed so I had shaken my head, took deep breaths and steeled my resolve. I should have known in that moment that nothing would go my way. She had walked into the room and upon realization of my intended intentions had called out my name in utter horror but I recoiled and mistakenly fired the gun at her. It had happened within seconds. She had raised her hand as if to catch the bullet with her frail, tender fingers and when the bullet tore into her flesh her hands feel weakly to her side and she swayed weakly side-ways then whimpered softly and landed on the white bathroom floor with a mighty thud. In that moment she looked so much older, her face looked as wrinkled as a raisin and her chin folded into many layers. Her body went slack as soon as she landed on the ground and the once snow white tiles were very quickly covered by the ever-growing puddle of wine red blood.

I shake my head as if to shake off the memory of the events that had just transpired and bound down the stairs as I make a bee-line for the front door. I was sure that the neighbors had heard the earth shuttering boom of the gun shot and called the police. If I wanted any chances of remaining a free man then I had to get out now. I step out of the house and I am immediately slapped across the face by the ice cold fingers of the winter air. I look around frantically and in that moment, the street that I grew up on had never looked more foreign. Across the road I can see the light being switched on in Miss. Lightwood’s bedroom and then shortly after a short figure is illuminated in the window as the tiny woman peaks out of her bedroom window. She looks down directly at me and with a sleep coated voice calls out my name. I bolt.

I run until my lungs burned and my throat felt as dry as sandpaper. I had no intended destination in mind but I knew that never again could I return to the house. In fact I would have to leave my small home town and never come back. Running away would not give her the justice she deserved but I know that she would not have wanted me to be put away for a mistake I made in a weak and irrational moment. I look up towards the pitch black star encompassed sky and give a short prayer for her. She was my light and she had been my rock when I had no one else on this planet. Everything good about me was thanks to her but admittedly after I left the army and came back from the war it was hard at times to remember that any good existed. I never meant to hurt her, I just wanted the pain and all the memories to go away.

 I continue pushing my legs to run faster before I kick a stone on the ill-lit pathway and topple over. I fail to find the strength to push myself up and keep running. Instead I put my head in my hands and cry for all that I had managed to lose within minutes.

My home is gone and never again will I bask in her warmth.