(Short Story)

The questions burned inside of me
searing through my guts to my core
leaving a trail of ash through this house
treating my blood like gasoline
smoke rising to my head
melting my brain
Down to this;
One question -

Did he do it?

I could hear my heart beating and watched the hairs on my skin shake a little from the rumble of its thunder.

I asked this question to myself over and over. First, in disbelief. Not letting the facts in front of me fully sink in. But as hours passed, the question began to change and I began to see the woman in the mirror staring back at me a little bit differently.

We’ve almost been here. Time and again. This place of such uncertainty and unknown. But never this close. Not here where we are today. I poured a glass of wine and kept the channel 3 tv on mute. Leaned against the cabinets and granite counter top in the kitchen. I put my head down. Starting at the residue of water stains on the glass that I had chosen. These water stains are disrupting my peace, I thought. Just another flaw in this house that nobody else sees. Infidelity allegations, sleepless nights, bedroom fights, and now this?

I put the glass down, found my way slowly in my Saint Laurent Swarovski crystal-embellished satin pumps through the dim, echoing hallway to the den. My place for morning light and his for evening company and cigars. I looked all around, starring at every wall. Flashbacks of us stripping down, him gripping my waist as he thrusted inside of me while I held on to these walls for stability. A house that has seen many things. If these walls could speak I may not believe their stories.

But this story, is difficult to disbelieve. Not revealed from walls, but through the power of the news media crew. Unfolding and developing stories ringing in my ears. Like high frequency waves making me dizzy. The story of Anna. The last breath she took and the last person to see her alive. The man they believe to be her lover. A quiet man, intuitive, logical and a realist. A hard working, loving and devoted family man. My husband, Oliver. Now under the authoritative custody of the Mipson county sheriff department, as a prime suspect for the ****** of Miss Anna B Delaney.

Details of the scene have not yet been released so it is still unclear and most inconceivable to imagine what happened to Anna.

The old man with no luggage
wears a pilling houndstooth jacket
and suede fedora with a
leather strap and horse-bit buckle.
Stark seams line his trousers.

He has:

Wirey gray hair, calloused wrists,
a popped blood vessel neath his thumbnail,
and deep crevices in his palms.
He folds his boarding pass into a kite,
as he looks into the sun
through the tiny cube of a window.

He sees:

The geometric shadows
cast in early afternoon.
And skyscrapers.
They cut through the sprawling
grid like an artery.

Don't allow him to grow flowers in your heart if he's going to give them to another girl

Sa bawat paggalaw ng mga kamay sa orasan
Naitatala nito ang takdang oras.
Ito ang mga kamay na sumusukat sa bawat
Segundo, minuto at oras sa bawat araw
na lumilipas.

Ngayong araw na ito,
tila sadyang nagmamadali ang
yaring mga kamay
na parang bang may hinahabol.
Hindi naman sila mga paa
Ngunit sila’y parang kumakaripas ng takbo

Sa aking pagtingin sa mga mabibilis na kamay,
nabagabag ako sa pagkaripas nilang ito.
Na kung sila’y magkakabuhay lamang
Ay aking itatanong,
“’Hindi pa ba kayo napapagod?”

Akala ko ba’y
Bilog man o parisukat ang hugis ng orasan
Ay ito’y patuloy na tatakbo?
Tatakbo at tatakbo.
Tatakbo lamang sa lugar na iniikutan nito
at hindi lalayo.
Iikot ng iikot.
Tulad ng ating mundo na hindi naiisip na tumigil.
Liban na lamang kung mayroong sadyang pipigil,
kung sadyang naubusan ng batirya,
kung nawalan ng dahilan para hindi pumalya.

Ngunit
sa isang saglit na pagpikit ng aking mga mata,
'Di ko nabatid kung isang panaginip
o isang realidad na nga ba ang aking narating.
Ang mga kamay na laging kumakaripas ng pagtakbo
ay bigla na lamang huminto.
Ang pagkumpas ng oras ay nabigo.
Ang panahon natin ay naglaho.

Spasms of pain controlled by the brain.
Hitting the ground without a sound.
Itching to see if you'll hear my plea.
Trusting the dark to leave its blue mark.

I see you.
When the ecstasy implodes.
I see you.

Pink skies looked upon by tired eyes.

Black lines splitting up a conflicted mind.

people don't settle for the physical.
they want your heart,
your soul,
your energy,
your time.

people don't settle for what's underneath your skin.
they want your words,
your touch,
your eyes on them only.

people don't settle for what's real.
they want angels,
gods,
super humans.
the ones who don't have limits.
the ones you can never fathom.