Todestrieb
At dawn he came in. The sun that summer, he sat down on the edge of the bed. He stroked your hair down to your shoulders and your warm little body, warm in that early summer sun. Your stuffed animals sat around at all corners, watching impassive as the sun was eclipsed by a shadow. A hand clasped over your mouth, it smelled like, it smelled
"Anna, open up the door! Open up!"
The gentle snapping of the old door lock in your old house that was a hundred years old.
Stillness, his hand was still there. The pattern of your ceiling was irregular like a sandy beach, a shell here a shell there, scattered all around it swirled in circles whenever he
"What's going on in here? What are you doing to Anna?"
The pavement outside, the averted eyes, the swirling ceiling that stayed the same through all of it. Mom's eyes were the only ones that didn't turn themselves away from you, Mom's brown eyes, Mom standing at the corner waiting for you on your tricycle, a summer before that summer when the sun was eclipsed by
And then he was gone. And so was he. And so was he. They were all gone. Sitting in the empty kitchen, on a summer day during a summer after that summer when John came in. The first time you, well no, not the first time. The swirling sand was the same on that day too, it never paid attention to you, you could dive into it all those times when the eyes were turned away from you and then
Mom waking you up in the morning. It's time to go to school. The coffee wafted its way up but you couldn't smell it, on the beach alone with the wind blowing and the emptiness of the sea before you...
Stirring in bed, you find your eyes are already open. A shadowy moonlight makes the crevices of your old ceiling look deep and cutting. You want to avert your eyes, but you can't move your body. An oppressive heaviness stamps itself slowly into your chest. You wait. You move your hand up towards your throat. You've been released. As though to escape the demon that has been holding you down, you defiantly swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, thinking about the empty beach that never changed, the cracks in the ceiling that are deep and cutting
Your Swiss Army knife is sitting on the edge of your desk. Flipping the blade up, you stand in front of your full-length mirror. You gaze at your beautiful face, at the smooth softness of your skin, at the long catlike eyes whose green shines iridescent in the early dawn light, at the full lips. Did those same lips actually do that yesterday? Beauty seems strange and unreal.
Without further ado, you bring the blade just under your cheek bone, trying hard to remember this image that will never again appear on Earth. You force the knife deep into your skin, and sensing that your trembling hand will soon betray you, you rip it downwards in a single, strong motion. Something stings at the edge of your lip. The knife drops out of sight. A single red dot expands to fill your vision as you fall to the floor.
"Anna, open up the door! Open up!"
The gentle snapping of the old door lock in your old house that was a hundred years old.
Stillness, his hand was still there. The pattern of your ceiling was irregular like a sandy beach, a shell here a shell there, scattered all around it swirled in circles whenever he
"What's going on in here? What are you doing to Anna?"
The pavement outside, the averted eyes, the swirling ceiling that stayed the same through all of it. Mom's eyes were the only ones that didn't turn themselves away from you, Mom's brown eyes, Mom standing at the corner waiting for you on your tricycle, a summer before that summer when the sun was eclipsed by
And then he was gone. And so was he. And so was he. They were all gone. Sitting in the empty kitchen, on a summer day during a summer after that summer when John came in. The first time you, well no, not the first time. The swirling sand was the same on that day too, it never paid attention to you, you could dive into it all those times when the eyes were turned away from you and then
Mom waking you up in the morning. It's time to go to school. The coffee wafted its way up but you couldn't smell it, on the beach alone with the wind blowing and the emptiness of the sea before you...
Stirring in bed, you find your eyes are already open. A shadowy moonlight makes the crevices of your old ceiling look deep and cutting. You want to avert your eyes, but you can't move your body. An oppressive heaviness stamps itself slowly into your chest. You wait. You move your hand up towards your throat. You've been released. As though to escape the demon that has been holding you down, you defiantly swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, thinking about the empty beach that never changed, the cracks in the ceiling that are deep and cutting
Your Swiss Army knife is sitting on the edge of your desk. Flipping the blade up, you stand in front of your full-length mirror. You gaze at your beautiful face, at the smooth softness of your skin, at the long catlike eyes whose green shines iridescent in the early dawn light, at the full lips. Did those same lips actually do that yesterday? Beauty seems strange and unreal.
Without further ado, you bring the blade just under your cheek bone, trying hard to remember this image that will never again appear on Earth. You force the knife deep into your skin, and sensing that your trembling hand will soon betray you, you rip it downwards in a single, strong motion. Something stings at the edge of your lip. The knife drops out of sight. A single red dot expands to fill your vision as you fall to the floor.