Her body bounced on the floor, like it was some latex dummy, life size and realistic…

It was real though – so very real. The red paint flowed out of her neck, like a budding rose that could no longer maintain structural stability. I suppose the life had fled from her eyes; eyes which were mere seconds ago alive with fear. The fear came from the cold metal pressed against the left side of her neck…

 

Oh how she fell. How the blood poured and life just left her. How God showed me there was no justice in the world; all things were limited and precious. Such dark poetry bestowed upon a young child. It has fucked me up for the rest of my life. I saw no evidence of heaven or hell, just that which was here and that which was no longer here. I knew she was gone from this world; I felt it deep within.

 

The ringing in my ears from the sound of the three shots the asshole emptied in her neck sang loudly in my ear. I couldn’t process any of this. I was too young and I hadn’t a true concept of death, though I supposed this moment changed that; life is the thing we go through before it all means nothing.

 

The night before I had a dream relating to this moment; how fucked up is it that an 8 year old is having dreams of shit like this happening before the events unfold before his eyes? I’m like a cheap rip-off of The Shining. Imagine a sewer-like environment cleaned up as much as it could be for people to live in. People were depressed in this unseen, but clearly felt, miasma of depression and boredom. Through some less travelled passage ways dark men in hoods who looked like black Klu Klux Klan silhouettes with red eyes stood ominously in the background. One such man came up behind this beautiful blonde woman at the end of the dream. It was abrupt, the terror in her eyes and heart being what I remember most about the dream.

 

Back to the waking world, and rewinding a bit… I had gone to court with my mother. She was divorcing my father. I must’ve been around eight years old, and a week or so before, we had gone to court prior to this visit as well. Doing anything in court is a process that involves multiple trips, lot’s of wastes of your time, and money, if even only for transportation. In this previous visit, I saw a young lad drawing Venom from marvel comics, and I thought the drawing was awesome. The next time around, he wasn’t in his spot, or anywhere to be seen, but I liked his idea so much that I decided to take residence in his spot and draw.

 

This placed me in an ideal position, several feet from the front row of chairs in the waiting room, making me able to see the action first. Life can happen in slow motion, and it has done so for me several times.

 

He appeared from behind one of the pillars like a chocolate Slender-man; he was tall, black, thin, in a black suit. It hadn’t fully dawned on me that this was my dream becoming reality. My nightmare. My real life nightmare.

 

I struggle between being agnostic and believing that God is out to get us. He’s out for all of us, but especially me. This is a nagging feeling buried deep inside me from this moment, but he took this woman from the world to remind me that I was next. I see the flaw of this logic, but I am human, and this sort of thinking is how I was affected.

 

He draws the gun from a shoulder holster, slightly puffing out his left lapel. He is probably right-handed like most of us. The silver cowboy gun is in his dark hand. It moves in a perfect sweep from his chest to his target spot. The cold metal — it must be so cold — kisses her neck. The cold metal wakes her up from this dreary miasma holding us all. Her eyes widen. She knows what is happening within an instant of this instant. Her head turns and she looks at him. Those beautiful eyes stare like a deer looking in headlights. His eyes are cold and barely noticeable, blended into the rest of his dark form. The end is here. Oh God the end is here. The baby she is holding in her arms… her baby echoing her beauty into the future; a physical memory of a woman who is no more.

 

BANG.

 

BANG.

 

BANG.

 

My angle of view changed. Somehow, I knew what was happening. I gathered my things and ran, taking a step for each release of hot lead. When I had made my way some small steps to the side of the room, she fell in front of me. I already told you what that was like. I have to relive that moment in my mind often.  I’ll spare you from the repetition. The moment is gone now and I am here writing about it to you. The tenses change in this writing which is a no-no, but I feel that it is appropriate in this piece. The transitions may be weird, as I dance between multiple thoughts and feelings while writing this. I won’t change them so much. I want you to feel like I did; like I still do sometimes. When I relive this memory, I am in the past and the present at the same time (time isn’t as linear as we often perceive anyway). My heart beats faster and breath quickens as I dig deeper for a way to best describe to you the experience. I regurgitate it on this screen for you to read.

 

What if God is the bad guy? What if this is his venom?

 

I’ve tried to make peace with this moment. A few years ago I was able to recall that in her final split-second, the blonde woman passed her child onto someone else next to her. The other woman accepted. There is something beautiful there; the human instinct perhaps. It is a mother caring for her child as best she could. I am so sad now. I feel like crying but the upper part of my cheeks punches my tear ducts shut. Don’t you see people? It’s not up to God. It’s up to us. The only thing we know that exists in some mystical sense beyond our full understanding is death. If there is a God then that is what he is. Death. Make no mistake, our time can be anytime. Everything we do can come to a sudden halt at any time. I read a book written by a warrior once, as a way to come to peace with this tragedy. I’ll paraphrase his words: “Death is a big brother standing over our shoulder, reminding us to live.”

 

I understand now.

 

We die, because we need to live.