Peeping Bomb

It was a bronze plaque emblazoned near the former entrance. On it was written a message: To remember all those people that were brave enough to fight for life even in the face of death.

How corny I thought. Below the message I saw what appeared to be a long list. It was the victims. I have to admit there were far more than I thought. Hundreds of them. They even didn’t forget Kayser. My eyes wandered until I came across a large part of the list labeled STAFF. I moved through the doctors and secretaries before reaching the nurses. There in melded bronze was one name. Abigail Dresdan.

Some unseen force clocked me in the face, staggering me back on my heels. It felt as if someone was twirling a fork in my intestines like spaghetti.

“Why aren’t you crying?” I heard my father say into my ear. Both cheeks began to run hot. I felt a sharp stinging on my scars. The hymns continued to get louder. While the noon sun warmed the people around me, I got colder. When I stepped forward to the plaque and traced my finger along her name, understanding the scope of the worst kind of irony, the tears still wouldn’t come. I understood now. I knew why I didn’t cry when mom died. I knew why I didn’t cry when those buildings fell. Why I didn’t cry when Abigail’s name appeared on that plaque. It was because I had no soul, just like my father. I brushed my cheeks then, tracing the scars with two fingers. I couldn’t let him win, not this time. I had to do something.

I stood up on the plaque then, turning to face the crowd formed around it. It was large, spilling out into the street. There had to be over a hundred. The faces were all sullen, gaunt and tear soaked. I saw an old woman clutching rosary beads in her hand while pressing a photograph of a young blonde girl to her chest. Another, a black man leaning on a cane, had eyes that were red and moist while reading from a Bible. Was this my work of art? I put up my hands for quiet and slowly the hymns died away. I had no soul, so I knew what I had to do. When the crowd began to mutter at why I had interrupted their grieving, I almost let out a laugh. They had no idea the present I had for them.

“I cannot bring back those who are already gone. But I can give you something to ease the pain,” I said, feeling the burden start to lift. My eyes began to get hot.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)