A Watchful Eye

Lifeless (TW SA)

I trembled as I stepped forward into the crowd. Beside the village well laid the bodies of two kids, eyes gouged out and heads bashed in. The blood washing from their eye sockets to the mud by the rain.

The exact same way the Ushis' died.

The mom; Mrs Mayumi fell to her knees as she cradled the two limp bodies of her children. We all just stare. What more could anyone do other than stare? Mrs Mayumi began to punch the ground, engulfing her fists in mud as the rain poured from above.

The gods are crying.

I clawed at my skin; watching the rain patter off of the flesh of these poor souls. The whole village has fallen silent. All I am able to hear is the gagging of those around me, and the rain forcefully hitting the ground. I can feel that knot in my stomach again as these images engrave themselves in my head;

Leaving me physically ill. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I can't run from my problems this time.

As a child, whenever I'd have a problem; my answer was to run. Find any distraction from it. Drown yourself in the presence of others and pray to the Lord that all of this noise would silence itself and all would be well.
When I was sexually assaulted; I dug a hole and left that information there.

Just run.

I thought, but the more I ran; the more it happened. I let it happen. Over, and over. I have yet to tell anybody; because I just keep running.

But this time, there is nowhere to run. I have nowhere to bury these images, these pictures forever seen in my head. The imagery of all 4 of these poor, poor souls will live in me until the day I rot in a grave. It'll flourish through me like something that should've never ever been seen.

I shake; it's humid. Yet the rain continues to come down like hell. The blood has washed into the mud and the mother is screaming at the poor children to 'wake up' knowing they are long gone. I am the only one watching now. I begin to walk away until something catches me off guard; the mother stares inches from one of the children's faces. She then proceeds to devour the cheek of the poor little girl.

I remember that little girl. When the weather wasn't grueling, when it was perfect. She'd always be the first one outside. I think perhaps that's why they got killed first, that pair of kids were always climbing trees or playing with their paper kites. But the little girl specifically I remember.

Her bright smile lives in my veins, how she'd always be outside embracing the summer sun. And when you passed her, she'd always smell like sweat.

I began walking away, seeing this grieving mother eat the faces of her children probably wasn't good for me. I could feel nothing more than despair. Horror was no longer a feeling, for I have seen it all.