Stories From The Dead

A Slit

 There it is again. The light that enters through a slit in the wall. I can't tell if I've been here for hours or days, I can't recall. The bottoms of my feet touch the damp ground and my ass rest on a block. My fingers comb through whatever hairs I have left on my head. 

 What is that? Footfalls? I hurried to peek through the hole but I collapse. My legs no longer work. I try to scream but my voice is replaced by an explosion. I yelped in pain. I could feel the warmth of my tears caressing my cheeks. Using the only light source, I held the picture of my wife and kids to the light along with my other hand. I ran the edge across my wrist and a sharp pain followed. I screamed as I dug my fingers into my own flesh.  

 This isn't enough.  

 I took the picture to my neck and ran it back and forth but it wouldn't bleed. I crawled in the darkness and I finally found shrapnel. My hands shook as I brought the sharp point to my throat and I thought to myself, I will be here no longer. As I said my prayers, I pushed the piece of metal deeper into my neck. I felt the warmth of my blood rush through my lungs. As my dying body fell to the cold harsh ground, I saw my blood cover my family.