Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

8 6 ~ A n n a

                 

Flashback ~ December 31, 2010

Getting home from school and seeing my brother. Opening presents on Christmas morning with my parents. Family vacations. Movie nights. Babysitting. Baking with my mom. Going for walks with my dad. Reading to Toby.

I turn away from the convenience store.

The man who sits on the park bench across the street from me is responsible for taking all of that away. He took all of that away for good. And now he sits back, watching me with a smile playing on his lips. With eyes that see only what they want to see. With his hands. Hands of someone who isn't afraid to kill.

He deserves to die. If I had a gun with me, I wouldn't hesitate before pulling the trigger. To hell with everything else in my life, all I can think about now is getting back at him. He needs a taste of his own medicine. He needs to feel that anger boiling up inside my chest. He needs to feel the pain of being ripped apart every day with the things that he'll never get to do again.

I wish he were dead. More than I wish I was dead.

But then I realize...I do have a gun.

My feet start to move before I can stop myself. I drop my bags and grab the pistol out from under the back of my jacket, relieved that it didn't get caught on my belt and go off.

And I point it at Caesar.

I'm shaking, walking closer to him from across the road. He doesn't react, just sits there are watches as I approach.

My heart is beating a mile a minute and it sounds more like a drum roll in my ears, leading up to the moment my finger will pull the trigger. I'm breathing hard as I reach him, keeping enough distance that he can't get to me before I pull the trigger.

"I saw you. At the bridge. You made the car—"

"Anna, let's not dwell on the details." He shifts his position on the bench, that smile not flickering at all. "It's your own fault that you told them everything."

"My fault?" I'm yelling now. I wonder if anyone in the stores is watching. I wonder if anyone has called the cops yet. "You killed them! You let me live but they..." My voice breaks and I struggle to keep the gun in the air. I can't keep holding it up if I'm not going to shoot him. But I am going to kill him. I will.

He should die.

My hands are shaking violently now.

"And you lit my match, kindling."

Okay, what the hell does that even mean? I can't think straight. I can't-I just can't breathe with him sitting right there, alive. And he's not even sorry. Kindling? What's that about? All I can think is their names. Every single name. How long has it been? Three days? Four murders? Five?

"My mom, my dad, my brother, the grandson..." I'm mumbling to myself now. I need to pull the trigger. Why is my finger freezing? Why is it that I've gotten this far, and I'm so close, and yet I can't pull the trigger?

I reach back with one hand and pull the polaroid out of my pocket, showing it to him in an equally shaky hand. "What's this about? Why did you want me to find this for you?" He just keeps smiling at me. My mind is going a million ways now. I'm not even sure what I'm capable of anymore. Can I kill him? Should I kill him? "Why?" I demand again, raising my voice even more.

"That's why I want you to play, Anna." I drop the photo onto the blacktop and bring my other hand back to the gun.

The sky is clear for the first time in a long time, but my head is just that much more clouded than it was before. I start taking a step back from him. Then another. "What are you talking about?"