"
People say
when you loose someone
you love
you become
- h e a r t b r o k e n.
I bet many
can agree,
that your heart
getting broken
would honestly be
the least of your problems
if that was all
we had to deal with.
When you loose
someone you love,
something inside of you
snaps.
It triggers off
a flooding feverish feeling,
that soaks up
every bit of flesh
in your body,
as if someone had
tipped boiling hot water
over you,
and yet, you shiver.
You shiver
like it was minus -10.
You're inconsolable.
You don't want to eat.
You don't want to sleep.
You don't want to do anything.
And if you're blessed,
You may be able to
lock yourself in a room
for a few hours a day,
with the curtains closed.
Taking back your time
that seems to have been
stolen from you
to come to terms with things.
The shock of it
doesn't always hit you
in the beginning, after all.
Sometimes it takes time
for
r e a l i t y
to sink in.
But how would you feel
in addition to having just lost someone you love,
a figure in the distance stands, wearing a midnight blue,
hooded cloak?
With none other
than your heart
in their hands.
The stranger smiles
from afar,
sending shivers up
your legs,
as you catch a look
at them in the eye,
a wheel of memories
begins to spin.
Suddenly
you want it all to stop!
It hurts too much to remember.
Your head
is a merry-go-round.
You can't seem to stand up straight.
You're holding your sides now, doubled over in pain.
You want to scream
to tell the stranger to stop,
because you've realized
why it all hurts so much,
but your mouth
remains glued shut.
There's nothing
you can do,
but watch.
You watch
as the
hooded figure
pulls back their hood,
to reveal the face of the person
you lost.
Then begins the squeezing.
The crushing of your lungs,
begins,
in the palm of their hands.
Oblivious
to all the pain
they're causing,
they smile on,
continuing to crush
and squeeze,
crush and
squeeze,
your lungs,
right in front of your eyes,
to pulp and
bits.
Sparkling red
droplets
trickle downwards,
dripping like a tap
left on to run.
And the worst part?
There's no relief
and so
you embrace it.
After a while
your puffy eyes,
swollen dry of tears,
stops leaking.
You stop struggling.
You sit there, staring.
The pain so intense
you hardly feel
anything anymore.
You've become immune.
Numb.
***
And yet,
you know,
there's no hooded figure
squeezing or crushing your lungs
to pieces.
There's no biting flames
eating away at your skin.
Just you
rushing out
of a boiling hot kitchen
into a freezing cold
air conditioned
sitting room
filled with
hunched over
sobbing women
and solemn men
glancing back and forth,
waiting for the other to start up a conversation,
but neither one does.
What does one say after all?
When they go to visit
someone who's lost a loved one.
The funny thing is,
people nod their heads
towards me,
sympathetically,
whenever I pass,
to place another tray
of refreshments
onto the dining table.
They stare at me
pityingly
because,
of course they know,
how wonderful it feels,
- to be stared at,
like a
- museum piece.
Aunties and cousins
have come, hugging me,
offering condolences,
telling me to relax,
that I needn't serve them,
but as soon as they turn
to greet another family member,
I dart,
back to the kitchen
before they can stop me.
Nobody ever follows.
The thing is,
they don't know how it feels.
None of them knew Ammar,
like I did.
As I stood
washing the dirty tomatoes
and chunky cucumbers
for the lunch salad
under the lukewarm water,
a hand taps my shoulder.
"Just wanted to ask
if you needed any help."
Standing
in front of me
stood the closest thing
to a friend I'd ever had,
my older cousin. Anya.
She'd been the one
who'd texted me
from the hospital
the night Ammar had died.
She'd known
about his heart condition
all along.
Seeing her
standing in front of me,
smelling off lavender, smiling,
made me want to bunch my fists,
and transform,
at least one of her eyes,
into a floating grape.
Not trusting myself
to speak,
I pulled open the draw,
that held all the knives.
I picked two
of the sharpest looking ones
and without replying,
handed her a knife,
and went back to chopping.
I could feel
her eyes on me
and knew
she was shocked by
my display of actions.
But I ignored her.
Until she spoke again.
It was her fault and now she was blaming my brother for his own death?
YOU ARE READING
drafted thoughts (30 Days Challenge/CPN)
Short Story[ "What if I found a way to express myself without ever having to actually talk? What if I could share my thoughts without ever having to speak them?" ] Sakina Resilense always seems to have so much to say, but never seems to be able to find the co...
