last note

12 January 1997

 

He was fifty-two, drunk and alone in a car heading home to his wife from an after-work party.  He knew he could not drive home alone without Satan pulling his right foot  six feet under the ground, and Death, with his scythe, ready to reap whatever is there to be  reaped  and convey it wherever it needed to be conveyed.

Blues and reds flickered.

Sirens thundered.

On the verge of the death highway, an officer tried to pull over the 1964 Oldsmobile Cutlass that the man was driving.

In a drunken panic, the man sped away from the officer down the furiously winding road where the car’s headlights failed at the time when they were needed the most.  Then, without knowing, the man veered off of the cliff.

The last second of his life was exceedingly pure and precious.  He thought of his wife.  She was everything to him.  He remembered how he courted her and how he was very protective of her like she was fine china.  Her smooth hands, he will never forget holding onto.  Her soft lips, he will never forget touching with his own.  Her tangled hair, he will never forget combing with the spaces between his fingers.  Her body, he will never forget making love with.  The ring on his finger, he will never forget how he cried like a newborn on the day of their marriage.  He looked at his left hand, and kissed his wedding ring for the last time.

As the man fell off of the cliff, Death was oddly unable to catch anything and had to clean the scattered guts and peel the shattered soul off of the rocks.

Death sighed.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

13 January 1997

 

She found out what happened early in the morning.  Her spouse had left her a note.

She was in the first month of her first trimester.  Puking and crying, she was unable to think clearly.  She laughed.

Devastation. For a month, that was all she could feel.  She did not know what else to feel.  Could she feel anything at all?  Is numbness an actual feeling?  Amidst her despair, however, was a sliver of happiness—the last note

—I was not good enough to save her.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

13 February 1997

 

Satan salivated and was extremely tempted as the woman looked at the knife in its crib.

At last, Satan took over her body and drove her insane.

The lady, with a blank face and overwhelming afro-like hair, ran her fingers through the table tops of the counter in the kitchen.  She tapped the tabletop twice with her right index finger, and then took a knife, with flowers and green leaves printed on its blade, out of the rack.  She gripped onto the spring-themed knife with all her might, shaking and nervous of what she is about to do.

She thrust the dagger into her abdomen.  Just like a cake, she sliced her abdomen in every possible angle.  Then, she slit both of her wrists and her neck open as fast as she could.  Her blood was splashing out everywhere like a science laboratory faucet.

—I felt how she was asking for forgiveness and how sorry she was.

Death was speechless, grossed out looking at the separated intestines and stomach spilling out of its body while loosening two souls at the same time, carrying them in his arms, and gently taking them away from the lifeless, bloody body.

Death, anew, sighed.

© 2015, Quiyet Brul

2 Replies to “last note”

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