Blogtober Short Story Entry #5
Detachment as the result of trauma is real. The mind forgets, but the mind always remembers. It’s been 21 years, I haven’t said his name, haven’t seen his face, and I haven’t replayed the events of that horrific night. In an instant, his name brushed by lips, segments of his face invaded by consciousness, chills, and a cool sweat caused me to shiver. His name, Saul Hernandez, his face, bronzed by the blaze of the Arkansas sun, his voice, silenced as I screamed and blood crossed my face. And here I sat, with fragments of his brain in my hair and on my fingers. Here I sat watching his body roll as I heard the crunching of his bones by another, here I sat, knowing a heart was no longer beating, waiting…..
I can hear him talking, explaining, giving details, the lights dance illuminating the body every few seconds, I sit, waiting, silent, tears rolling, trying not to touch anything, or disturb the scratches and glass that dot my skin. I keep thinking “is he HIV positive” , how much of the blood that continues to ooze down my face belongs to him, I look down and notice my fingers, one is dislocated, all covered in glass.
I hear a vacuum sucking debris, I hear crunching, I feel soft hands and hear a voice, hands are parting my scalp, more suction, more debris, kind words, I sit, waiting. An officer asks, he explains, I sit, silent, waiting. I explain, between tears, I explain, between sobs, I explain, he watches, I wait…….
The highway has become another enemy, the car, my coffin, a constant reminder of the corpse.
Much love from the brown girl, exploring my dark side, sharing short stories for Blogtober! Keep writing, even if no one is reading ❤️
Nyri~The Unnerved Traveler