Celestine
I witnessed the stabbing death of a woman in front of me. It was a moment in my life I will be pressed to forget. Her dark hair stained in the deep scarlet waters gushing out of her neck. Her eyes focused on a point beyond our consciousness. A man standing over her dripping in the lifeline of her existence, almost like a prized Matador admiring his victory over a beast. From the dark underlying of a car, I quietly wept for this stranger and her untimely demise petrified that he might suddenly turn around and notice the owl eyes – frightened to death – documenting the actions of the devil within him. She slowly moved her head in my direction as a cold sweat ran down my face. Can she see me? Does she know I’m here? You’re not alone I whispered almost praying that she could hear me. As desperate terror swept thru my veins, my eyes were fixed on her face – beautiful, innocent, undeserving of this ending. Big brown almond eyes, deep in sorrow, big full pink lips, tainted with red, a lipstick she never intended to wear. Skin as white as milk losing more its luster with each passing second. I laid there wondering who she was, why this happened, how little I could actually help her. But the most terrifying thing of all? I liked it. Her death just made me feel alive. More alive than I’ve ever been…
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