metalmarna

(I did this 3 years ago when I worked at POSE) I call it "prophet eyes".



STORY:

I never knew this kind of feeling, infecting my blood like a viscious poison. I couldn't make it stop - just let it disease me. Suffocate my lungs. I was overcome by the deepest emotion and I didn't know how to control it. So I did the unimaginable.

I saw it in his eyes. The pain - the rage - the words no longer made sense as he spit them in my face. He wanted to hit me but he would never touch me. Not even in bed as I rode him like a hungry hooker. He never touched me once with his hands.

He demanded that I do what he said, it was the least I could do. So I drove him to his destination, some two-story house across town. Then I watched him walk out of the car, not knowing if I was to ever hear from him again . . . not knowing if I'd even care. He took one last look at me, his eyes still burning from the fire I had ignited. Then turned to walk up the cobbled path - the path to his doom, I later found out.

In my car, the windows wet from heat - I slowly drove away as that feeling grew stronger in my body. This was it. This was the moment we had all been waiting for. The moment that took 8 months to get to. Was it all worth it?

Without a second more to waste, I belted down the freeway in the dark to find solace in the company of friends.

I got a phone call - 10:50 pm. I had just finished watching Thriller (a well told foriegn film about REVENGE). I hesitated at first, to pick up the phone . . . did I want to hear what he had to say? Was he still full of fearful rage? To my surprise he asked for my arrival. And as scared as I was - it took all the courage inside of me to meet him this dreadful time.

He got in my car and touched me for the first time. He showed me things I dare not speak of again. Tears fell from his eyes like a leaky faucet, his hands were cold from the air. 'It's over' he said, then began to cover his eyes with his fists. . . . . that was all that came from his mouth that night.

I couldn't believe it. Deep down, I felt something brutal stirring inside me. Was it guilt? Or was it relief? It was too intense to decipher. All I could do is hold him as he soaked my skin with his sadness.

In the morning, we talked. I wiped the blood from his chest and threw his clothes in the wash. He was still a little shaken but in better shape than before. We lied in bed as he shared his experience, told me if she came back in some other form or spirit, he would damn her to the depths of hell. The murmur of his voice had faded now as I thought of my own conclusions.

There is a slight chance she might come back to haunt him, there is. But in all reality I knew she would never come back . . . she knows better now.

We all do.