Saturday 16 June 2018

'Pieces' by LInda Eve Diamond

He comes back to my door and pushes his way in. "I’m sorry I was selfish,” he says. "Forgive me.” I remind him that I already did and have nothing left to give. "Please,” he cries, "I need to know I’m forgiven.” I let him in and take a certified letter of forgiveness from the desk drawer. I’ve been here before. "Here it is in writing. Please, I need you to go.”

We’re standing in a white box. The house mirrors what’s left of me. No paintings no frills, no nicknacks, no TV—just a beaten up old desk. Not so long ago, this home was fully furnished with comforts, memories and dreams. Now it’s as empty as my bank account and all that’s left is this desk as I work to rebuild all that I’ve lost by getting too close to this human tornado of torrents, torments, and schemes. He sits in a rare state of quiet on the floor where my couch used to be.

"I was selfish and greedy,” he sobs. "I never meant to be. I was so happy, and now—I don’t know what I’ll do. My wounds won’t close.” He strokes my arm. I know what he wants.

I scratch off a patch of my skin for him and graft it over his wound. He leaves to let me tend to my arm.

Before my arm heals, he’s back at my door. "How’s your arm?”

"Okay, I guess,” I say. "I’m a little high on pain pills.”

 "Oh. Can I come in?”

"NO!” I want to scream. But he’s already inside and taking his seat on the floor.

 He came to thank me and to talk. "I can always talk to you,” he says. "You see everything so clearly.” He stares into my eyes. "If only I could see myself the way you always did.” He whispers slowly, “Sometimes I want to die.” I shudder, swallow a deep breath and say, "Okay.” He reaches into my socket and pulls out what is now his third eye.

"Please go now. If you don’t leave, I’ll bleed to death.” He says I have courage. "No I don’t,” I deny, then quickly roll it up and stuff it behind my spleen. But he’s already seen. I have so little courage left. Still, he sets his tenacious mind to sucking out that little strand along with every ounce of life force that surrounds it. I fall.

He sits beside me soaking in whatever’s left of my soul. He takes a deep, tearful breath and a last, long look around. "Maybe it’s wrong,” he thinks… "but I could really use that desk.”

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