Liefe

Missing!

It's been 28 days since my husband was pronounced missing. They say after a few months in therapy I'll be better. Back to new. Fixed. Whole. I don't really want to think about that but hey I'm not in the police department am I? I didn't give up on him but they sure did. The city even offered to pay for my shrink which would be real nice but I'd rather have my baby back.

I can't rest soundly most nights. That's assuming I can get into my lonely puddle in my now uneven bed. All to myself now. Not even our cat Randy will get in the bed now. He knows somethings wrong. I do too.

Instead of sulking in my lonely one bedroom apartment I decide to go into the late night and take some pictures. Maybe I can empty my mind and fill my camera roll with some somber memories tonight. Randy wasn't feeling particularly photogenic.

I walk down an oddly empty street considering it's a Friday night. I would be working at the bar tonight but my boss understands my situation. It's funny because I don't quite understand my situation but at least I get to be alone for a while. Alone at least.

A roaring train passes above me, screeching it's connection to the tracks for the whole city to hear while the city makes its own noise somewhere in an alleyway. Maybe my husband was murdered in a quiet alley. That's fucked up. Is the thought what twists my gut or is the idea of taking someone's life what finally pushes me to throw up on a pile of trash that must've barely missed the trash can.

As I look up dizzily from my pile of stomach acid I see a kid looking at me with intense stillness. I can't catch my breath or clear my mouth of saliva enough to tell it to go away but when my vision comes back I realize that I'm not really sure it's a kid. It's too dark to see clearly but why the hell would a kid just be out at 11 at night? Has someone been following me then?

The shadowed figure peered from the shadow beyond the street lights and the sight became whole. It was no child or stalker, but rather a pair of disembodied legs, stumbling out from the void. Where was his upper half? It has to have been a he the way his exposed tattered legs were never scarce of hair and even less scarce of  wounds from whatever accident severed this man from completion. His gray skin and open sores peered into me as I stared it down. Mutual stillness.

I hesitate to run in this situation but as soon as the figure takes a stilted hobble out of the light I trip backwards and look upwards at what could only be a personal sign from the devil. A slow wobble takes the uneven figure toppling which lets my brain fire up long enough to claw my way up and run for dear life.