The Coffins Came At 8

The coffins came at 8. She knew they would. Each lid opened in smooth succession. Like freshly made beds, each one ready for her family. The metal tags already engraved with the names of her loved ones. She wept by each graveside, as memories flashed through her mind. They had all left her. She knew it was coming.

The murderers came at 9. She knew they would. Their sharpened knives, able to kill from a mere brush with skin. Their muscled arms bulging under heavy leather jackets. Tensing at the pure thrill of the kill. She couldn’t turn away. Though she tried to every time. But they made her watch. Every stab. Twist. Plunge. Tear. She heard every gasp. Cry. Scream. Groan. Saw the lights go out. Once. Twice. More times than she let herself remember.

The police came at 10. She knew they would. Their stoic stances outlined through the curtained windows. Helmets in hand as they delivered the final blow. Their downcast eyes following her fall to the floor. Their words drowned out. Heard only as an echo from another room. She stared into nothing, knowing it was all her fault. But she had tried.

The doctors came at 11. She knew they would. The disbelief in their eyes. The blank stares, the blank pages. They turned her away with a flick of the wrist. A roll of the eyes. Door after door. Question after question. Normal after normal. Her bones breaking at the sound of more waiting.

The jilted lover came at 12. She knew they would. White gown stained red, black and rust. The dress, only for make-believe. But this time she forgot. For it had all felt so real. The groom, standing there. Blurred around the edges.

The children came at 1. She knew they would. Broken minds and misshapen bodies. With anger in their eyes. She had done this to them. How could she when she had known before? Her ache for them had silenced the fear of having them. But she should’ve fought harder. They shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t fair.

The friends came at 2. She knew they would. Their worlds, too big to fit in her door. They hovered nearby. Not too close, so she couldn’t ever reach. Smiling eyes and full arms. She watched on. Empty and aching. Trying to reach out. Connect. But the doorway was always too far.

The diseases came at 3. She knew they would. Eating away at them. Starving out the life and leaving the shell. For her to hold and scream for help. She could never cope. She knew this too well. She had been taught to fear. The fear was her only constant. She clung to it for dear life.

The deaths came at 4. She knew they would. Dropping like flies. She couldn’t stop them. She begged. Prayed. Bargained. Nothing made it stop. Her eyes, forced open. Made to sit with the death storm around her.

The emptiness came at 5. She knew it would. The gaping hole where her life should sit. All that was left, a dusty floor and fingernail marks. She couldn’t do it anymore. But she had to. She just didn’t know how.

The end came at 6. She knew it would. The heaviness won. Eyelids bowing to the sweet escape of sleep. Seconds of refuge before the darkness found her again. For she could never outrun it. Only hope for a moment of misdirection.

She turned the light on at 7. Got out and opened the curtains. Turning, the coffins now cushions. The murderers, now coat hooks. The police, now jackets. The doctors, now dressing gowns. The jilted lover, now a doll. The children, now stuffed animals. The friends, now chairs. The diseases, now shoes. The deaths, now pillows. The emptiness, now air. The end, now beginning.

She opened the door at 8.

Good night?

The usual.

Get any sleep?

Only nightmares.