Rest in Peace Nelson Mandela.
18 July 1918 − 5 December 2013
Blood spew out of the left side of her abdomen. She grabbed at the wound in shock with her face half crumpled in pain and half in disbelief of the moment.
It was as if the air had pushed her into the knife held in his hand. He’d just pointed at her but she had stabbed herself. It wasn’t shocking that she had wounded herself willingly but it was the disbelief of how utterly at peace she felt with her decision, that finally it was a reality.
The poor man who held the knife at her in the dark alley covered in the winter darkness now ran in the opposite direction of the alley, as if for his life. In that moment she became the predator. The man had only wanted the money carried in her jewel incrusted purse, and maybe the diamond endorsed on her left ring finger.
Why hadn’t she obeyed him and just given what he had asked for? All she knew was that in the split second of shock from when he pointed the knife at her to the moment the knife entered her she was blank. It had seemed natural for her body to accept the knife in her.
She did not scream. She lay there on the ground becoming colder and colder. But her face was beaded in sweat because of the pain; though the pain was comforting.
As she bled, her hands stayed on her side feeling the warm fountain of blood from the large gash caused by the hunting knife.
She herd quick steps towards and saw italian leather shoes approach her. This man had a wool coat on him and his face was very angular with lines that framed his smile probably. In that moment though they framed a shocked frown. He eyed her in pity and concern. She just looked up at him in defiance.
Her large brown eyes settled on his yellow brown eyes that were dark in the setting of the alley. He was on his phone murmuring something very fast. She was going into darkness now. Letting it consume her she closed her eyes and lay back relaxing into the pain.
He put a strong gloved hand under the nape of her neck and shouted something but it came form a distance to her. She saw the red and blue lights now of an ambulance probably but they were far too.
He saw her brown eyes roll back and fade. He knew then that he was too late for her head flopped into his hand. He tip toed away from the blood and her limp body as the paramedics pushed their way to her body.
She hadn’t recognized him. He knew when he saw the defiance in her eyes against his want to save her. He knew that some how it had to be her decision for this moment was surreal. They had caught the man two blocks down because he was still carrying the knife and crying.
It was all her and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was too late. In a way it was his fault for he was just another catalyst for the darkness she was in now, the darkness she had been in.
In that moment he realized no matter what he would have pushed her in the darkness again if given the chance. He wasn’t trying to save her because she was dying but because he felt guilty for placing her there but he would’ve done it again. He had given his darkness to her a long time ago for her light. That had been the trade when years ago she fell in love with him and he had only cared for her as one would of a pillow, only using it at night for rest.
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Flowers grew across the hills breaking the green canvas of perfect grass. The houses seemed to grow out of the side of the hill as fungi, naturally. The happiness seemed infinite in this town of glee.
Everyone expected the tiger to come cozy up by the fire with them like a house cat. But of course a wild animal can’t be tamed.
So he raged the town and the people with it. Breaking an illusion of glee and perfection.
They had eluded into a fantasy of perfection and flowers that surrounded them in their colours and smells. What they forgot was the harshness of life in the truth it carries.
"My philosophy is: If you can’t have fun, there’s no sense in doing it."
Rest In Peace Paul Walker (September 12th, 1973-November 30th, 2013)
It’s just not fair.