The doctors wanted me to write about my experience. But I couldn’t. Not because I couldn’t remember it, but because I didn’t want to. It was too much.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the blood, heard the screams.
“I will never forget what happened that night.” I whisper to no one. I curl up in the chair, away from the rest of the group. “It’s my fault,” I say to the rain that slashes the windows. “He died because of me. I told them it was safe to stay there and wait out the storm, but it wasn’t.”
The howling wind whistles in response, and thunder cracks overhead.
“I might as well have stuck that sickle in his gut myself.”