It’s Okay.

Then I died.

Thirty minutes ago…

He threw me into a room. It was dark and cold but I was still able to make out the smoke coming out of my mouth when I was breathing. I curled into a little ball and I sat shivering, at the wall – wobbling back and forward. My elbows, hands and knees were bleeding because of the many times I fell onto the pavement. Fear was no longer present in my heart. Instead it was filled with anger, confusion and weakness. I was feeling incapable of lasting.

Suddenly the door opened. The light exploding into my face, blinding me. The hooded figure came closer. It created a clear shadow. It was a man. Wearing old, faded-black trousers and a black hoody.  He was carrying a box. He kneeled beside me and ripped my hands from my knees and held them firmly but gently in his. He took out a cloth, cleaned the wounds and bandaged my hands elbows and knees. What scared me the most was that I wasn’t scared. I gave myself up to him. Willingly.

He left and I was buried in the darkness. I rolled onto my right side and tried to fall asleep. But, I couldn’t. There was a huge banging noise coming from the door. As if someone was using a hammer. About ten minutes later it stopped. The hammering noise was ringing in my ears and there was no way of turning it off. Covering my ears with my hands, squeezing my little head made it only worse.

The door opened again. This time no one was standing in them. Maybe he is letting me go. I thought. I moved closer to the door. My vision was slowly coming to a clear, sharp image. It was a room. As normal as any other living room. Everything was in place; the comfy, used, three place couch at the far wall, the little, mahogany coffee table just in front of it, a high lamp with a cone shaped lampshade and a TV at the one I was standing at. I heard footsteps and when I turned around to face the door way I couldn’t believe my own eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for this.

In the doorway of the living room stood a man with dark brown hair showing few grey ones as well.  He had blue eyes. As blue as the moon in the lightest of nights looking down on the world. He had wrinkled hands that were after many hours of arduous work, with dirt underneath his fingernails. In the doorway of the living room stood, my father.

His face said he loved me – honestly. Questions started filling my head like the lemonade fills our glasses every summer. We stared at each other. My voice exchanged for tears that I was holding inside me. Why would he do this to me? What did I do?

“I’m sorry.” He said. His eyes filled with tears. He was hurting. It was evident. He reached for his pocket and slowly drew out a gun. My eyes suddenly let out three small tears, as if to say ‘I forgive you’. He raised the gun and pointed it at me.

Then I heard a shot. As laud as a thousand fireworks on the new year’s eve in times square. My chest filled with a sudden dash of pain and irritation. Then coldness spread in to my body -slowly- spreading from the tips of my toes and fingers up to my heart. My legs gave up on me and I fell onto the ground. My father rushed to catch me before my stiff, numb body touched the floor. He held me in his arms, tears now mixing with my blood.

He kissed me on the forehead and I whispered “It’s okay,”

Then I died.


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