Shoes were glued to my feet, limbs heavy and clothes fraying, clinging to my frame like a lifeline. A lioness being alerted to start their hunt, their prowl for something new to shield their body from the harsh climate of Melbourne. Stealing was never my forte, but I could always make up for what I lacked.
than see him in pain. Terminal, they say, a year left, they say. The plea for the thing that saved me, my saviour, was unacknowledged. I prayed for the life out of reach and now this is my reckoning. A sparkling diamond, now shadowed by the machines fighting for his breath.
back of my head, consciousness ebbed, and I was greeted with darkness. Past I am not insane. I am not insane. I am not insane. He is with me now; I can feel him - touch him. His warm, velvety hand was engulfed by mine and warmth swarmed from his presence. How rounded his strawberry flushed cheeks were, how bright and beautiful they were, stretched into a perpetual smile. How warm I felt, with him in my arms. So real yet so fake. I am not insane. ------ Present It was a draughty morning, the frosty Melbourne air coated my skin, dampened my clothes. The sun shone through the mist, parted as I weaved through the streets and paths. Parted to reveal a little boy who stood still, a statue in front of a dainty cafe. How rounded his strawberry flushed cheeks were, how bright and beautiful they were, stretched into a perpetual smile. How warm I felt, with him in my sight. So real he was. How remorseless I felt when leading that little boy away, his halo of hair shining like a golden crown. How calm I felt before stealing.
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Present How could I forget that day? The day fury and despair consumed my once - happy existence, a fiery storm that burned cities and towns alike. Events that came over me like a wave, drowned me with the sorrows of the world and foreshadowed natures retribution. How difficult that day was, how enraged I was, how spiteful I was. I laughed, numbness settling deep into my bones like an ancient tomb, while my pupils dilated from the muses of human creation.
Past 4 years old. He ’ s now 4 years old. Tears well, flooding my eyes, a reminder to cherish even the smallest moments. I cradled him, gazed upon his sleeping face where he lay, features softened and expression content. I prayed for perpetuity, I prayed for his eternal youth, I prayed that he would never leave my side. ------- Present A droplet of sweat rolled down the side of my face, down my spine, and goose bumps followed in its wake. Perspiration formed from the nervousness of pre - theft jitters. Nightmares of these moments haunted my mind while the rush of adrenaline kept my blood pumping and legs moving, a stark contrast to my calm exterior. Battles ensued; an inner conflict that would never resolve until one side gives out. The canned goods stuffed into my pristine clothes were a cold, heavy token of the crimes committed and the morals which were bent. ------ Past Silence. Silence all around me. My love for the little boy soared, blossomed, a promise that I ’ d rather die
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Past Screams erupted, arms flailed, reaching for my son. The assailants keeping him away from me tasted the brutal impact of my flying limbs, a desperate battle without a victor. Words spewed from my mouth, incoherent, muffled from the poison chewing on my brain. “ Nononononono PLEASE! NO! PLEASE! GIVEHIMBACKGIVEHIMBACKGIVEHIMBACKGIVEHIM BACK! ” Speech failed me, legs gave out, falling, falling endlessly until collision, a jarring sensation with blood sampling on my tongue. Eyes which I felt roll to the
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