Dark Wave

Chapter 9

They didn't leave my mother alone that night. They stayed with her until morning, slept in her bed. Trashed her things, stole what was most precious to her.

And came back for seconds.

They cornered her, against the wall. They sneered, and spat, and cursed, and insulted.

'Whore.'

'Ignorant bitch.'

'Stupid. Cunt.'

But she got through that night with the gun in her stocking, and she was not going to let them do that to her again.

She was so terrified, with her back against the plaster and the tears staining her face.

And he moved down towards her and smelled her hair.

So she bit him.

She sank her teeth into his ear and ripped his lobe in two, stood sharply as he reeled in pain and shoved him back. Running into him, she toppled him to the floor, freed her hands from under herself and pulled out the gun.

All three eyes watched her in terror.

The hilt of the gun reflecting in each of their eyes, and she pulled back the safety lock with a click.

One of the shadowed men sprang for her. She pulled the trigger.

And missed.

He landed on her with such momentum, such force that she fell back against the wall. His hands groping for the gun, pushing it towards her face and under her chin. She caught his eye and his breath on her face, and she tried harder and harder. For what if she died at this point now? Could she reverse her wrongs then? It hit her that she must be more powerful, she must survive. In a moment the struggle vanished and she shoved back the gun, and sent a bullet into his forehead.

He fell onto her, and she rolled away, leaving him lying there on the floor with his blood forming a pool on the floor, and matting her clothes and her face.

She pushed the safety onto the gun and dropped it, and then dropped herself.

The other two men had vanished, leaving her alone there again, in this dank room with this man's blood. His death on her hands.

She wept, screaming and crying. The pain welling up on her, on her legs and on her arms and her chest, all the bruises and cuts and scars, and she didn't think she could go on; she didn't know how she could pick herself back up and carry on living with all this death.

Another murder added to my list of sins, and I will go to hell. If only I could die.

But this is already hell!

This burden I carry upon my shoulders - I can't carry anymore! I'm not this heroine, and I don't save all these people. I killed them, I've killed them all. So condemn them to death! Fire the missiles! Drop the bombs! End this eternal blaze and send this world into nothingness.

I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE.

I can't keep trying to battle my sins, reverse my karma, become whole again.

BECAUSE EVEN IF YOU USE GLUE TO PUT IT BACK TOGETHER YOU STILL SEE THE CRACKS!

You can't fix something that has been broken so many times that it's forgotten what it feels like to be normal. Not any amount of time, not any amount of love, no act of courage or salvation.

BECAUSE THERE IS NO SAVIOR.

There is nothing that will save this world, the infection will spread and we will all die. 

Every. Single. One. Of. Us.

There is no point in living.

I am simply worthless, irrelevant. 

There is no goal.