Broken
by Erik
Bergérus
It takes 9
months for a person to be born. It then takes years and years for that human to
grow up, to learn how to love, and be loved. Years of emotions and feelings and
events that shapes the human being into a unique individual. A lifetime. Then,
in a split second, everything can be taken away.
The thin air
of that cold December night keeps going back and fourth in my head. A day
doesn't go by when I'm not back there in my mind. The unlimited amount of what
if's keeps haunting me. What if we wouldn't have gone out? What if I had done
something differently? What if she wouldn't be dead?
The silence
between the bullet slowly moving into the chamber and the shot going off felt
like an eternity. It feels like I'm still there. That the bullet never left the
pipe. That I could still help. That destiny hasn't chosen path yet. But in
reality, the choice has already been made. The gun has already gone off. The
snow has already been coloured red from the blood of my lover.
Not knowing
is a blessing and a curse. Your mind is calm, you can concentrate. Enjoy the
moment. Then again, with a premonition, you can prepare, get ready for what's to
come. I could never have prepared for what that night had to give, even if I'd
been foretold. The only feeling I had was that this evening with my wife would
be something to remember. True, I've remembered it ever since.
The sky had
all of a sudden after weeks of heavy snowing cleansed itself of the clouds and
let the millions of stars and the full moon look down on the city from above. We
had been walking through the night for half an hour, at
We were
talking about life. How it had turned out. How lucky we'd been to find each
other. How good we felt and why. Our 2-year anniversary, I couldn't believe time
had gone by so fast. She laughed. I was happy.
A black sedan
slowly pulled up beside us. Slowing down to match our walk speed. At first I
didn't bother, but the passenger window was rolled down and a man looked at us.
From there everything went so fast. I felt a piercing pain in my arm and dozed
away. The last thing I saw was the blurry vision of my wife being pulled into
the car to an echoing scream.
Suddenly I
was in a dream. I was standing in an endless corridor leading to the darkness.
The floor felt magnetic, pulling me down, every step I took wore me down like a
life long struggle. I limped down the hallway, half closed eyes, trying to
focus. I understood this was just a psychedelic vision. A dream I got from
whatever was pumped into my arm. The walls of the corridor were decorated with
our wedding photo. Hundreds of them. I looked. We seemed so happy, just the way
I remembered it to be. We stood close, holding each other.
Then I
noticed something. One of the pictures looked a little different from the
previous one. My wife's smile was a little faded. She looked a bit bothered. On
the next one after that you could notice a tear in her eye and her smile was
almost gone. I saw the next picture and the next after that. My smile was still
there. I looked just as happy as I always did. Her smile was gone; her eyes were
blank, tears pouring out of them, smearing her mascara. Her skin was pale. Her
hair faded in colour. I felt bad. This was just a vision in my mind, I kept
telling me. But it felt real. The pain actually hurt.
I kept
walking, slowly. My feet were pulled down. I looked at the pictures. I was
smiling. She was crying. Her eyes were like black holes, staring into nothing.
As the pictures went on, hanging on the walls, her face got more and more
altered. I could hardly see it was her. Her mouth opened slightly and a small
stream of blood ran down her chin, onto her dress, down on the floor and out of
the picture. Making its way down on the floor. It was like looking at a super-8
video tape, every painting was a frame of a short movie.
The face of
my beloved now looked grotesque. Her skin was almost blue, her shoulder long
hair almost white and her eyes were gone. My smile was getting bigger in the
pictures. My face was a giant grin. I kept walking, staring at the pictures. My
heart hurt. What was this? Why did I see this? Suddenly I heard a voice. My wife
stood before me. I got my eyes of the wedding pictures and looked at her. She
was beautiful. She reached out her hand. She smiled. I smiled. I took her hand
in mine. She looked at me. And there was the disfigured and repulsive face from
the pictures. My heart stopped.
I felt the
cold of the snow on the back of my neck. I opened my eyes and the stars of the
sky looked down on me. I turned my head and the street was empty. I was alone.
My wife was gone. I slowly got on my feet. What had happened? Did they take her?
The people in the car. A small piece of paper note was on the ground next to
where I had been laying. "You want to see her again? Hurry to the
The
The lobby was
well-furnished, with the Christmas decorations and all. A man sat on a couch
reading a newspaper. The front page said "Rooftop killing". A chill went down my
neck through my spine and out of my feet into the floor making my whole world
tremble. Without thinking I moved swiftly into the elevator and pushed the roof
floor button. As the metal box moved up the 120 floors I fell to the ground,
sitting against the wall. I buried my face in my hands, trying not to cry. That
feeling hit me and hit me hard. That feeling you get when something you've been
working on for a long time suddenly falls down. Everything can be out of order
in so many ways, but only in order in one. I had had it that way. Things had
been in order. It had worked out. Then one thing can go wrong and the world is
never the same.
The elevator
clinged in place on the highest level. At the roof top. As the sliding doors
opened up and the cold air hit my face I knew what I had to do. I had to get her
out of here. I had to protect her. I promised myself nothing would happen to
her. My deepest desire ever was to make sure she was secure. I promised myself.
I walked out.
I looked around. I couldn't see anyone. Then I saw my wife on her knees, hands
behind her back. I ran up to her. She told me how afraid she was. I told her it
was over. I told her nobody could hurt her. I knew it wasn't over. I knew
someone was up here. Then I heard a voice behind me. I turned around and there
stood a man in a ski mask, wielding a 9mm handgun. He walked towards us.
- Do you
really love her?
I was quiet,
looked at him, arms around my wife.
- Do you love
her of all your heart?
I didn't
answer. He had the gun. Another man in a similar ski mask, holding a similar gun
walked out from behind a container. They were two. I didn't see their faces, but
I knew they were smiling.
One of them
pointed his gun at me, walked up to me; put the cold steel to my head.
- If you love
her, he said. You'd die for her. Would she die for you?
I was quiet.
The other man gave me his gun. He pushed it into my hand.
- Kill her.
His words cut
the arteries to my heart. I stared into his covered face, the pistol in my hand
felt to weigh a ton. My wife started crying. The tears wandered slowly down her
cold cheeks. The gun pipe aimed at my head made my brain want to tear itself out
of my skull. I hated those who did this. I hated life. I sat there with my wife.
A gun in my right hand and another one pressed against my head. I gave up. Even
with the weapon in my hand already loaded, I could never overpower the two men.
- I could die
for her, I said. Kill me.
My wife cried
harder. They laughed. They laughed, the bastards.
- No, he
replied. She will die for you. Kill her.
- Kill me and
spare her, I said in desperation.
The man
looked at me.
- You're no
good sport, he said and took the gun away from my head.
Before I
could realize the situation, the gun had gone off. Twice. The crying stopped.
They ran.
I held her as
she stopped breathing. I held her close until she was gone.
She was so
beautiful, laying there on the ground. Her eyes calmly shut. Death rinses the
soul, takes everything away. Every flaw is gone. When dying, a person is
fulfilled, leaving everyone else broken.