Watching us die

She’d seen them die too many times not to recognise the signs.

Seen them die with different faces.

Different names.

It seemed like she recognised the signs earlier each time it happened, but had not yet learned how to prevent them from running their natural course.

The first signs were noticable only to a keen observer, as she was. The slow dying of what was between them. She’d seen it many times before. It starts subtly, small irritations, nagging doubts. Forgetting to ask how his day was. Forgetting to hear how her interview went. The gap falling inbetween them as both of them stopped to care. She’s been in this exact same place so many times before, she could see it coming before either of them realised.

They wouldn’t recognise the smell of death until they were too consumed to do anything about it. Until they were too worn out to fight it off.

Sometimes they would pretend to put up a last fight, but this was just the sad encore to the one hit wonder that had become them. The audience had left. No one expected anything. It was just for appearance sake that they pretended to make it work.

She had experienced this death too many times before. Experienced the slow, cruel, gasping last breaths of what used to be two people who could talk about anything, wonder what to say next. Watch a comfortable silence become an awkward mumbling of irrelevant word.  The people were always different. The faces change, but the course remained the same.

This time she would not fight. No kicking. No screaming. Just irredeemable sumbission to what was to come. She would give up and walk away. The alternative hurt too much. It would only delay the inevitable.

Death came knocking again (like she knew it would) and she was too tired to fight it this time.


1 Response to “Watching us die”

  1. 1 Petra September 3, 2010 om 4:31 nm

    H0op dis n deel uit jou boek

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