In the Middle of the Bed (A Saira Collings Story)

July 13, 1998 (Lucile's Story)

Even old women die painfully.

Lucile was one of my grandma's long friends, and loved animals. She was a great pick for a stablehand.

One day, though, she was stringing up barb wire on a destroyed part of the fence before the cows got out.

I walk over to watch her work. She barely looks at me, and instead focuses on stringing the wire.

I notice a box near Lucile's feet, and reach towards it.

Lucile snaps,"Hands away from that box, girl. It's electric, and will kill a child like you. Or do you want to electrocute me as well? Do you wish to see me die?"

I keep my mouth shut against a retort, and simply edge backwards. Lucile gives a stiff nod, then looks back down at the wire.

Time passes, and the sun beats down on us mercilessly. I go inside my grandparents' house, and come out with two glasses of water.

I hand one to Lucile, who gulps it down, spilling most of it down her chin and chest. I hand her my glass, which she dumps on her head.

I step back again, and watch as Lucile works. Finally, after forever, she seems to be done.

She pats the box next to her, flipping a switch on the side. I hear the crackle of electricity, then Lucile's scream.

Her body falls back, but her wrist is still connected to the wire. I see the water droplets on her wrist, along with sweat, sizzle and evaporate before my eyes as her skin turns black.

Her body seizes, jolting around with electricity thrumming through her body. I think about taking her wrist off the wire, but then a warning sounds in my head.

The electricity could transfer to me. Then I could get hurt and may die.

So, I simply watch as Lucile shudders while her skin turns black as pitch. The smell of burnt skin permits the air.

I see her spirit rise from her body, and hardly blink as the scar appears across my back, from my spine to the scar Sam gave me.

I turn around, and walk away from the charred body. Later, when I'm inside reading, I hear my grandma scream.

I don't look up from my book, however. Instead, I read even slower, forcing my mind to focus on every single word on the page. Every single stroke of ink. Every single white space between the letters.

It's moments like these that people need to read. To escape the horror and disaster of your life. To leave the real world behind for a while. To dissolve yourself into nothing but paper and ink.

To forget and disregard the voices in your head saying that you could've saved a life.