Light

This is one find that made me very happy. When my old computer bit the dust, I realized that I had lost quite a few bits and pieces of writings. Oh, the big stuff I had saved on disks and flash drives. But the little things, the odd story that popped into my head one night or the half-finished conversation between two characters...those things I lost.

Which was why I was happy to find this story printed out and shoved in the back of a chemistry notebook. It's long, so I'm not going to post it all, but it has a different tone than a lot of what I write. It's a dark piece filled with hope. I don't know that it makes a lot of sense, but it certainly makes me feel. And after all, isn't that what good writing is all about?

Excerpt -
Not what I caused, mind you. I never cause wounds. I don’t hold the knife or the needle or the gun. I just whisper in the heads and in the hearts of those that do. A sibilant cheering section, a push to an edge that they were already nearing. Another told me once that we were just speeding up the process; that the children would destroy themselves with or without us. Lie or not, it makes my job easier.

It’s what I tell myself as I hear the blood slow to a trickle. Not my fault. Not my fault. If I pay attention, I can time the phrase to the whistling sound of their dying breaths. Not my fault.

Not my fault.

Not.

My.

Fa-

Across the room and with my eyes closed I know when it ends. Death is silence and silence is louder than one expects. It roars into the room and blankets it till I have to make a noise or go insane. I laugh.

There’s no malice behind it. No humor either.

I laugh simply because I wasn’t created to cry.