01

351 10 0
                                    


[June 2nd, 2019]


Noelle Benjamin

This feels unreal.

I want to close my eyes forever and hope that in 1,000 years when I wake up, this will all be gone.

I watch my mother lie dead on the floor peacefully as the pain slowly eats at me. This has to be a dream. It can't be. Just this morning everything was fine. We were fine. She was sitting at that same dinner table in the corner eating Cheerios with me.

I sling the handbag hanging low on my forearm to the hardwood floor. A few items shuffle around as it hits the ground, the lump in my throat growing slowly as my eyes twitch in disbelief. This isn't real. I need to wake up. Why am I not waking up?

I need to call someone. The police, the paramedics, Harlow, anybody.

But I don't.

I don't move a muscle. I continue watching my mother's dead body rot in the middle of our apartment's kitchen. I don't understand. Why am I not doing anything? Why am I not helping the woman who brought me such a beautiful life? It doesn't seem so beautiful right now. My feet could melt into the floor with this sight.

I hear a light knock on the door, which makes the barrier of my shock break. Everything seems real now. I can process what's happening in front of me. And when it does, a rush of emotion travels to that still lump in my throat, tears immediately crashing down my cheeks. I blink, chewing my bottom lip in frustration. This is all my fault. I never should have left the house this morning.

"Miss Benjamin? London authorities." A voice speaks from the other side of the door.

How did they know she was here? I barely just got here. Did someone see her from the outside and they called the police? How long has she been dead? What if she was murdered?

I have so many questions, but I don't have enough time to answer them.

I spin around to face the front door, turning the knob in a rush. My hands are shaking, so the knob rattles a few times before I manage to get it fully open.

The door reveals my best friend Harlow's father, who's the detective inspector of London. I part my lips to speak, but instead he hurries to talk.

"It's okay dear, you're in shock, you're in shock." He repeats, pulling me out of the doorway.

The four other men behind him pace in my home quickly, kneeling to check on my mother. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, as I continue to attempt to calm myself down. My heart is in my throat, joining the lump, my eyes flickering around in every possible direction. Mr Jane drags me a few feet away from my house, where now there are multiple people crowding the front yard.

"It's okay. You're okay." He reassures me, his sweet features still not calming me down. He rubs my shoulders over and over, trying so hard to help me. "Can you tell me what happened?"

I don't jump myself to answer his question, my eyes keep flicking to the tall building 10 feet away from me, then the flashing lights. My sight slowly becomes dazed and my lips go back to their dry state. My head is pounding, the center of it carefully ringing into my ears. The lights begin blinding me slowly, as I feel soft drops of rain spread on the top of my head. I shuffle my toes around in my leather boots in hopes to focus on anything else. Anything else but this. I hear the light squeaking through all of the commotion around me, Mr Jane still attempting to grab my attention. But all I can think about is the building. 

rain. |h.s|Where stories live. Discover now