Copious Doting

It was a warm Sunday afternoon, Pamela was dancing her heart out to Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No.6. Bethany was watching her, as she smoked her Upmann cigar, blowing out a cloud of smoke that swirled into the dimmed light of the room with every smile and laugh. Pamela looks up and twirls as her feet tip-toe making her almost float. “Mama! Mama! I’m really good, look! Look!”, she said as she looked at Bethany for assurance. Their eyes met as soon as Pamela swirled in Bethany’s direction. It was a short moment, but the scene lasted a lifetime in my eyes. Bethany’s graceful laugh was the last thing I heard, and Pamela’s darling smile was the last I ever saw. Standing in this very spot, I feel as if it had never happened. I could still hear Pamela laughing. And I could still see the smoke clouds coming from Bethany’s cigar. Music playing and the weather warm. I could still see Pamela’s dress flounce with each jump, and her curls bounce with each laugh. Bethany looking at me and laughing as she curled her hair on her fingers. Now, where was I? When they barged into our home, and shot my loved ones dead. Now, where was I? When they beat my wife, and chopped my daughters head. Now, where was I! I was away. I was sitting somewhere safe, sipping a glass of Rioja while I sat comfortably resting, playing cards with my friends. I got a call early in the morning from an officer. I took the first bus back to the station, took a taxi to town and rushed to the hospital after my wife and kid. I came not a second too late, to witness their death and pain. Bethany, she was barely awake, but Bethany was not Bethany no more. I couldn’t even recognize her messed up face. Three bullets to the face. My daughter, Pamela. I saw her body, and then her head. My throat felt like it was sinking deeper into my body, and my esophagus began to burn, as I felt the beats of my heart rush. It was too hard to breathe, the sight was raw. I didn’t cry, I died inside and out. I screamed, I wept, I broke and shattered everything in front of me. I couldn’t think at the time, I didn’t understand what was going on. I felt my intestines swirl and pull throwing me all over the place. The room was not spinning, I was spinning, in agony. But don’t sympathize with my grief. This was all my doing.