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The Witness

The Witness

By Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik

The screaming. It never stopped. It just continued to ring around the fragments of my weakened confused mind until it was both past, present and future. All my thoughts, shattered by a great ugly scream that tore the blackness of the night to pieces that lay broken open the pavement intermingled with red river that ran over the concrete until it pattered away into the gutter like fallen rain.

The slight trickle of blood from my left hand brought me back to it. Back to the moment. Shouting; a flash of a blade; a scream; a thud as he fell to the floor; the red river running to the gutter. A life, running to the gutter. Lost. As I washed the blood from my shirt I watched it diffuse like crimson paint into the cold water of the china sink. It hovered for a moment. The screaming continued.

Then, as I pulled the plug, it too ran down into the drain into the gutter like a watery crimson river.

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About The Author
Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
About This Story
29 Apr, 2019
Read Time
<1 min
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