we both now see ourselves as predators.
I have only so many options left to me now. My anger slips over any fear as easily as slipping into a warm coat. My anger is incited by the screams of my name from a little boy that is drowning in pain and pleading for me to save him. A little boy that they have taken from me for their own delights just as they took Ashley. I am desperate. I may not be their Mother, but they are mine. They are mine to protect. They are mine to keep. They are mine, also, to so brutally fail. The danger before me does not matter anymore. The only option left to me now is getting through these demonic dolls to reach him and Margaret does not seem to understand that she is the first in my path.
The solid wall of the stoves behind me stops my steps short. I am not so brave as to turn my back to her. I glance over my shoulders for any type of weapon, keeping her in my sight. I look to find anything that I can use against her. I feel around to find some clue to our survival. I remember, rather than see, the magnetic strip over the stoves and begin to slap the wall for its location.
I know the moment my palm lands upon a solid handle as the eyes before me glance past me for the first time since turning around. Her face melts down to pure animal at my discovery. She drags herself at a faster pace towards me. Her sounds signal some unspoken event with her classmates. Pairs of arms retreat from their abuse on the door, falling limp and still at their sides. My eyes glance from the child behind me to the children beyond her and back. The finale is cued.
The knife slides off the strip with ease. The scraping sound it causes serves as its own battle cry, making their heads turn towards me with awareness of my actions. Margaret’s lips pull back to expose small white teeth in a snarl that should be impossible for such a face to wear. I am conflicted with the fact that these are children before me and that my child is beyond them. I asphyxiate with the doubt and uncertainty of how to do the next horrible act. Despair washes over me, and I know what I must do. These children must die so that my child may live.
The dam breaks inside me. I scream my first sob and bring down the knife upon pigtail swaying Margaret. The blade slides into her at the tender juncture of her neck and shoulder. It does not cause her to flinch in the least. She does not even stagger with the blow but instead uses my closeness to latch onto my arm. Her head turns to sink those tiny white teeth into my exposed flesh and I kick her, using the stove as my brace. Her small body falls upon the ground with her eyes never leaving me; her target. Dark blood pours from the wound at her neck and yet she still stands up angry and ready to try for my death again.
I stare at the delicate white flowers discoloring from my attack on the blue dress when she comes for another attack. There is no form of recognition on her face to the state of her body and the shoebox is opening inside me with a fragment of a key. They are not real. Some freak form of is animation left, but they are not human anymore. Even as her tiny heart pumps itself out of her body, she feels no pain or panic over it. I stand crying from the clues presenting themselves to me and end the little form before me.
Her death is simple. She feels no panic. She holds no pleading cries. Just the simple fact of is and was. My mind settles into a state of numbness as her classmates begin to run at me in waves of their mayhem. I climb up upon the stoves to keep me safe from them rushing me as my Ashley was, and with no remorse, I take aim at each little body until there is no longer anything to aim at. They finally lay still before me. They are a pile of holocaust imagery formed of small, delicate, still bodies. I can no longer tell if the blood they wear is theirs or anothers as shades blend upon them. I am certain any moment swift judgment will reign down upon me for such a sin.
The room is
I have only so many options left to me now. My anger slips over any fear as easily as slipping into a warm coat. My anger is incited by the screams of my name from a little boy that is drowning in pain and pleading for me to save him. A little boy that they have taken from me for their own delights just as they took Ashley. I am desperate. I may not be their Mother, but they are mine. They are mine to protect. They are mine to keep. They are mine, also, to so brutally fail. The danger before me does not matter anymore. The only option left to me now is getting through these demonic dolls to reach him and Margaret does not seem to understand that she is the first in my path.
The solid wall of the stoves behind me stops my steps short. I am not so brave as to turn my back to her. I glance over my shoulders for any type of weapon, keeping her in my sight. I look to find anything that I can use against her. I feel around to find some clue to our survival. I remember, rather than see, the magnetic strip over the stoves and begin to slap the wall for its location.
I know the moment my palm lands upon a solid handle as the eyes before me glance past me for the first time since turning around. Her face melts down to pure animal at my discovery. She drags herself at a faster pace towards me. Her sounds signal some unspoken event with her classmates. Pairs of arms retreat from their abuse on the door, falling limp and still at their sides. My eyes glance from the child behind me to the children beyond her and back. The finale is cued.
The knife slides off the strip with ease. The scraping sound it causes serves as its own battle cry, making their heads turn towards me with awareness of my actions. Margaret’s lips pull back to expose small white teeth in a snarl that should be impossible for such a face to wear. I am conflicted with the fact that these are children before me and that my child is beyond them. I asphyxiate with the doubt and uncertainty of how to do the next horrible act. Despair washes over me, and I know what I must do. These children must die so that my child may live.
The dam breaks inside me. I scream my first sob and bring down the knife upon pigtail swaying Margaret. The blade slides into her at the tender juncture of her neck and shoulder. It does not cause her to flinch in the least. She does not even stagger with the blow but instead uses my closeness to latch onto my arm. Her head turns to sink those tiny white teeth into my exposed flesh and I kick her, using the stove as my brace. Her small body falls upon the ground with her eyes never leaving me; her target. Dark blood pours from the wound at her neck and yet she still stands up angry and ready to try for my death again.
I stare at the delicate white flowers discoloring from my attack on the blue dress when she comes for another attack. There is no form of recognition on her face to the state of her body and the shoebox is opening inside me with a fragment of a key. They are not real. Some freak form of is animation left, but they are not human anymore. Even as her tiny heart pumps itself out of her body, she feels no pain or panic over it. I stand crying from the clues presenting themselves to me and end the little form before me.
Her death is simple. She feels no panic. She holds no pleading cries. Just the simple fact of is and was. My mind settles into a state of numbness as her classmates begin to run at me in waves of their mayhem. I climb up upon the stoves to keep me safe from them rushing me as my Ashley was, and with no remorse, I take aim at each little body until there is no longer anything to aim at. They finally lay still before me. They are a pile of holocaust imagery formed of small, delicate, still bodies. I can no longer tell if the blood they wear is theirs or anothers as shades blend upon them. I am certain any moment swift judgment will reign down upon me for such a sin.
The room is
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