In Remembrance Of

In a past, in a future, in an elsewhen that never maybe shouldn’t ought to have happened. All of these things were his life. Are his life. All of these things have happened. All of these things are someone else’s lie. Someone else’s life.

All stories are true.

* * *

Nobody ever goes to see the movie “Happy Guy.”

It was a phrase he never used, didn’t believe in, and couldn’t really have understood without the fire of his previous life to illuminate the idea.

And so everything that happened as he came home from running errands seemed like… Well. It seemed like pure cruelty due to a most un-happy Fate.

* * *

“Ohgodwhathappened? Baby are you all right?”

Bruises and cuts, dark and purple, deep and red. A black eye. Torn clothing. She was curled up in the bathtub, sitting in blood, her arms wrapped around her belly, screaming silently, because she’d already screamed herself hoarse.

The house in shambles.

When he touched her, her grip turned to him, and it was fierce and painful, and she hissed, voiceless, “They said to tell you that you promised. You promised not to forget her. They said.”

He was at a loss, stunned, touching her, slowly realizing how his hands were covered in what was left of his unborn son.

“No,” she breathed, seizing him with a terrible fear. “No, what have you DONE?”

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0 Responses to In Remembrance Of

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Okay. All right, well. Wow. And so disquieting and disturbing that I’m pretty positive some of these images are going to follow me into sleep.

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