Again I find myself thrust back into a memory I thought was left buried long ago.
"I woke up at 3 this morning with the same image that has been haunting me for what has been the last week, like it does every year around this time. Seeing the shivering, soaking hands of a helpless, innocent little boy, locked as he holds himself around his sister awakens me before the rest of the world and denies me a chance to lay my head back down to close my eyes and finish my night. Scared into the day I too now shiver in my bed, a tear piercing through my eyelashes, I try to close my eyes to block the images I know will soon tear through my mind.
Soon it comes, like it always does, and I suffer through it again, knowing that in time I will learn what I need, and that will bring rest to this eternal nightmare. Though until that moment I continue to suffer through my mind’s cruel retelling of a story first told and lived so long ago. My memory, not supplying me with all the information I need, does not allow me to remember who the boy and girl are. They seem to resemble myself and a little girl, who could almost be my own sister. The resemblance rips through my heart with a pain to which I stop breathing.
At first I cannot see the girls face, not much of her at all, but just a boy grasping his sister in the cold, sharp rain. A man crying into his dark wet hands stands to the side, but I am drawn to the boy and girl. The girl, almost limp, seems to want to slide through her older brother’s hands and to the cold wet cement. He does his best to hold her up but fails; they both slowly collapse into a darkening puddle on the ground. The boy’s grasp seems to tighten around his sister in a way that seems he never wants to let go. He lays her down, finally letting their body’s part. Her face remains lifeless, as the puddle she lies in becomes a midnight red.
Though I have encountered this memory many times before I always seem to forget the fatal ending I find myself amongst. I remember the old, apparently distraught man.
His hands dripping the same midnight red water that surrounds the now pale, cold body of a soul killed too son, leave his sight as he looks to the boy and girl he knew so well. He too falls to his knees, his eyes never leaving the little girl. As he falls my eyes follow and soon I see a gun at his knees. I begin to look around and notice a crowd of lost souls running and screaming, only so slowly as to have no effect on the boy, girl and man. Their fight to help, attempt to bring aid and comforting words and motions seem to have no effect on the now lost boy.
Rocking himself back and forth beside his late sister my own vision begins to rock, and I too see myself gazing upon the lifeless form that was once life itself. I find myself in the eyes of the boy, I find myself seeing something that registers as more than just a nightmare. My vision now distracted by the lights of what may have been a million cops and ambulances, and the tears or rain that has filled my eyes makes the rest a blur. I try to reach for my sister, hoping I could put just a little life into her to bring her back but I am pulled away.
For 364 days of the year I am thrown through this cruel dream that places me at the impossible place of a little boy in a tragic situation. I never get to know who the man is, and for those days I never quite know who the boy or girl is. But on that last day, on the day of my sister’s birth I’m forced to realize the truth that was a tragic day so many years ago. I add a rose for each year I visit her eternal resting place upon this earth, a rose to symbolize the years she should be experiencing alongside her now lonely brother. A rose more importantly to remind me how many more years I’ve gotten, and how many times I have to give thanks for what I still have, for the life that I take so easily for granted.
Happy Birthday Sis…"
The quotes?.. yes this is my writing, but whether its true, or a story, or simply a nightmare which could have once been a memory or tragedy is unknown to even myself, the creator of this story that is slowly eating away at what once was a happy memory of childhood.
Soon it comes, like it always does, and I suffer through it again, knowing that in time I will learn what I need, and that will bring rest to this eternal nightmare. Though until that moment I continue to suffer through my mind’s cruel retelling of a story first told and lived so long ago. My memory, not supplying me with all the information I need, does not allow me to remember who the boy and girl are. They seem to resemble myself and a little girl, who could almost be my own sister. The resemblance rips through my heart with a pain to which I stop breathing.
At first I cannot see the girls face, not much of her at all, but just a boy grasping his sister in the cold, sharp rain. A man crying into his dark wet hands stands to the side, but I am drawn to the boy and girl. The girl, almost limp, seems to want to slide through her older brother’s hands and to the cold wet cement. He does his best to hold her up but fails; they both slowly collapse into a darkening puddle on the ground. The boy’s grasp seems to tighten around his sister in a way that seems he never wants to let go. He lays her down, finally letting their body’s part. Her face remains lifeless, as the puddle she lies in becomes a midnight red.
Though I have encountered this memory many times before I always seem to forget the fatal ending I find myself amongst. I remember the old, apparently distraught man.
His hands dripping the same midnight red water that surrounds the now pale, cold body of a soul killed too son, leave his sight as he looks to the boy and girl he knew so well. He too falls to his knees, his eyes never leaving the little girl. As he falls my eyes follow and soon I see a gun at his knees. I begin to look around and notice a crowd of lost souls running and screaming, only so slowly as to have no effect on the boy, girl and man. Their fight to help, attempt to bring aid and comforting words and motions seem to have no effect on the now lost boy.
Rocking himself back and forth beside his late sister my own vision begins to rock, and I too see myself gazing upon the lifeless form that was once life itself. I find myself in the eyes of the boy, I find myself seeing something that registers as more than just a nightmare. My vision now distracted by the lights of what may have been a million cops and ambulances, and the tears or rain that has filled my eyes makes the rest a blur. I try to reach for my sister, hoping I could put just a little life into her to bring her back but I am pulled away.
For 364 days of the year I am thrown through this cruel dream that places me at the impossible place of a little boy in a tragic situation. I never get to know who the man is, and for those days I never quite know who the boy or girl is. But on that last day, on the day of my sister’s birth I’m forced to realize the truth that was a tragic day so many years ago. I add a rose for each year I visit her eternal resting place upon this earth, a rose to symbolize the years she should be experiencing alongside her now lonely brother. A rose more importantly to remind me how many more years I’ve gotten, and how many times I have to give thanks for what I still have, for the life that I take so easily for granted.
Happy Birthday Sis…"
The quotes?.. yes this is my writing, but whether its true, or a story, or simply a nightmare which could have once been a memory or tragedy is unknown to even myself, the creator of this story that is slowly eating away at what once was a happy memory of childhood.