The Morning Light

I lie in wait of the morning light. With that comes people, and with that comes help. I know that, and that is what keeps me alive. I’m not sure how long I’ve been down here, but it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. For me, it’s been much, much longer.

I lie here in wait of the morning light.

Around me lay the shells of those I loved. Those who were close to me—when they could breathe. Now, they are just empty. There is nothing left to power them. They can’t whisper any comforting somethings into my ear. They look as if they were dipped into a pool of red dye. Their faces are surprised, terrified, eyes staring up at the sky, never looking away.

I lie here in wait of the morning light.

I can do nothing but lie here and wait. I am all alone except for my grief, and my regrets. All the things I didn’t do. All of the things I wish I hadn’t done. My shirt and pants and arms; they all have this scarlet paint splattered on them. I’m not sure if it’s mine or not, but it doesn’t make a difference as far as I’m concerned.

I lie in wait of the morning light.

Down close to my feet, is a dagger—jutting out of my leg. Red is caked up around the hole. I would pull up the blade from my flesh, but I cannot. I am unable to move my arms, or my legs; I am completely paralyzed from the neck down.

I wish I could get up and see what time it is, but I cannot.

I lie in wait of the morning light.

Seconds jog, minutes walk, and hours crawl. Several hours had to have gone by since I fell down, frozen. I looked around, my eyes darting left and right, for that was most of what mobility I had. My head was extremely hard to move. It didn’t help any that an ache was a huge factor.

I could see that the outside world was getting brighter. I grew very excited, because I began to feel my deadweight coming back to life. I could move my fingers and toes quite easily. I could definitely breathe easier. Then my calves, my thighs. My entire leg and the other were mobile. My torso, my arms. Slowly, it all came together, and when it did, I sat up. I blinked and my vision blurred. Again, and I remembered the knife. I reached down and pulled it out. Red leaked a little bit, but I didn’t seem to feel much. I didn’t know why.

I looked over at the man on the floor. I recognized him as my fiancé. He had what looked like deep claw marks up and down his back, and bite marks as well. Mother and Father lay on the floor too. My face showed no expression; I had already grieved for them, and now was definitely not the time regardless.

I walked around the living room, and shut blinds, and locked doors. Bolted windows, and filled every little crack with something, so no one, not a soul could peer in and see such a sight. I spent some valuable with my family, cleaning up their tragic mishaps quietly and soundly. I drowned the once white carpet with countless gallons of bleach until there was no trace. I was probably high on the fumes.

I cleaned the dagger last. I took it to the kitchen sink, and filled it with bleach. I dropped the Sterlington silver blade into the sink to soak. When the task was complete, I filled a glass to the crest with lemonade. It was freshly made just yesterday afternoon. I took the glass outside and sat on the porch taking conservative sips spaced a few minutes apart.

On the handle of the dagger was an inscription.

It read: To use in case of emergency.