It’s Crying Time, Again

I can’t quite wake up this morning. I feel exhausted and in pain and I don’t want to move. I didn’t sleep well last night. I dreamed that I was Bennie and that I was lying on the operating table. Above me were huge lights. They’re the brightest lights I’ve ever seen. By the time I took his place on the table, the doctors and nurses had long since taken theirs. I watched them doing their work, furtively slicing and suctioning and making busy for hour upon hour. My heart was not in my body, for some reason. I could see and smell it…the blood. I could hear the sounds of machines attached to…me. My legs hurt. The doctors are panicked now because there was not enough good artery to repair the damage. I hear them talking about the size of the aneurism. They won’t be able to fix it. They know I’m going to die. I know I’m going to die. My kidneys aren’t working. They don’t know what to do. I’m bleeding out and I’m so cold. 


That’s when I woke up. And I swear he was standing over me. But, he wasn’t alone. There were two others. I don’t know who they were. The imagination is a powerful thing. I wish mine would forget he ever existed. I wish it had been me on that table. Anything to escape this misery. 

I feel like he’s slowly killing me nowadays. Yes, that’s the explanation I’ve settled on. His memory is literally killing me. And, when I finally die, and I face my judgement, I’ll only be able to say that I have mourned a wicked man and that any wrong I did, while living, I have atoned for through countless days of misery. There can be no punishment worse than this. Hellfire could not make me more sorry. 

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