Sabato, 24 Luglio, 2004 | Posted by Lionel Gerkin at 18:21

Every now and then it comes back to me. I have tried to forget without success.

I heard the explosion. My mouth was bleeding. My head was throbbing. It felt like a bowling ball, hard, heavy and it was just bobbing all over the place. I couldn't hold it up.

But I heard the explosion.

At first I thought it was in my head. I thought he had hit me again. And then I felt that stringent smell sneak into my nostrils like an intruder. It crawled in and I tried to cough. I tried to squeeze it back out. I had no idea who had been shot. I looked out my swollen lids and saw the gun. I saw a small hand holding it.

The hand was trembling uncontrollably. I followed the arm up its length and saw my daughter's face, Marie.

Jesus was on the floor. Blood was spilling out into the room. His eyes still glowed with shock. Shock at having been hit.

In the distance I heard the Police siren wailing to announce its arrival. It would be here soon. The sun had now come up. I had to act quickly. In that instance, my head seemed crystal clear.

I crawled over to Marie. I looked in her eyes and saw nothing. It was as if some thin film of reality had been shattered and she was gone with it.

I took the gun. I wiped it clean. I wiped off her sweat from the handle. I wiped drips of blood from the tip of the barrel. I wiped her face. At that moment, she had no idea who I was, no idea.

I held the gun in my hand. I grasped it's cold shape and raised myself to my feet. I walked over to Jesus's body now and forever lying still and already starting to decay back to dust. I could smell where his bowels had given way and opened for the last time.

I lifted the gun, pointed at the body on the floor and pulled the trigger.

Then, there was just silence. And that song was still playing:

Someday, I'll wish upon a star
and wake up where the clouds are far behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops,
that's where you'll find me.