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Archive for April, 2011

Stumbling

 It was silver, glinting as the florescent lights bounced off its barreled chambers. You wouldn’t look at me. Your eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, absent. Thunder cracked outside the thin walls of the garage that we had caught a hummingbird in just days ago. There was laughter as your mustached lip turned up at the corners. We smiled as you let the small bird go.

We were screaming and you didn’t hear. You were too busy yelling to notice our begging and pleading. Or perhaps your thoughts were muddled and your ears stopped by that amber liquid. It seemed to slosh over and float down into your mouth as you cursed. The thunder cracked again and the lightening lit up the room.

 Maybe in that instance you saw us and realized you weren’t alone. Maybe in that moment you knew that this wasn’t the way. You took the gun and set it down. The world began to shake as the salty tears poured from my eyes. I fell to the floor as you stumbled over to me. Picking me up by my hand, you kissed my forehead as though you had not just considered leaving me for the second time. “Go to bed honey,” you said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” With that you walked away. And I was alone, shaken.

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