It's a frame of maybe 15 seconds, but my head has refused to let it go.
My brain has engraved it behind my eyeballs and plays the audio on loop in my eardrum, demanding it to be remembered.
The light in me projects the image from behind my eyes onto the big screen,
Causing me to double over in fear.
Her voice pours out of my ears, joining the picture, becoming a film.
She is on the floor, curled into a ball, helpless.
Repeating "This can't be happening" like a broken DVD.
Her hands are over her head, gripping onto it with white knuckles,
Trying to keep the room from spinning.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, but the tears are still falling.
The lighting is dim.
The hall providing the only source of light to illuminate her.
This can't be happening.
Her voice;
So broken, so fragile.
Switching from tones of hopelessness to absolute terror.
It's evident in the pitch change.
First, low and detached.
But contorting to stridulant and alarmed as the seconds forge on.
Several years later and I am still being forced to relive the moment.
I mimic her exterior, praying for it to be over soon.
Clenching my eyes shut, in attempt to put the image out.
Covering my ears with my hands, trying to mute her cries.
But there's no use.
She is still there, curled on our hallway floor
In the middle of the night
Hands over her head and mouth moving to repeat the same words,
This can't be happening.
This can't be happening.
This can't be happening.
I am so far from this memory,
But it haunts me still.
This was the night my parents started the divorce process.
