Bones shattered, limbs hanging useless, dangling from broken arms, legs - pleading for mercy that doesn't come. I, he was helpless to do anything but scream and plead with Powers that dont' listen to stop, that don't listen to reason, they just don't and there's nothing to do but just watch. NOTHING. Don't go there just don't-nothing to do but watch this man be beaten to a pulp right there, to experience this sense of helplessness of nothingness as you watch unable to do anything. NOTHING. NOTHING NOTHING I was nothing. No one around me was anything. I was no thing except this we- this one person, my love, holding a picture of us and what could be, our future, our possibilities and what ifs h- holding each other back from our own certain death at the protest of a man losing his life so HORRIFICALLY before me , before us.
People die all the time.
Our-my-own daughter died in our-my-arms.
She died of natural causes.
She wasn't beaten to death as this man was. She wasn't pulped and broken to death because she was hungry.
She just died.
Rest assured,
I've seen death.
Death .
DEATH.
How many of us see someone die right there? I mean right there? In our arms, in our circle of influence? A loved one sure, but a stranger? How many of us can effect the outcome? Some? Few? Me? My daughter died of croup. We are a civilized advanced country. We did all we could to save her. We failed.
She just died.
Rest assured,
I've seen death.
Death .
DEATH.
How many of us see someone die right there? I mean right there? In our arms, in our circle of influence? A loved one sure, but a stranger? How many of us can effect the outcome? Some? Few? Me? My daughter died of croup. We are a civilized advanced country. We did all we could to save her. We failed.
This man, this grown man, I watched him die.
Held back by "helping" hands, he was MURDERED before my very eyes. Broken. Bleeding.
Was her death the price I-we-payed to live?
WAS IT?
I am haunted by this idea.
This guilt.
HAUNTED.
What could I have done? Could I have paid his fucking restaurant tab? Could I have been the fucking white person who couldn't be touched in that fucking 1999 China?
Held back by "helping" hands, he was MURDERED before my very eyes. Broken. Bleeding.
Was her death the price I-we-payed to live?
WAS IT?
I am haunted by this idea.
This guilt.
HAUNTED.
What could I have done? Could I have paid his fucking restaurant tab? Could I have been the fucking white person who couldn't be touched in that fucking 1999 China?
I don't know.
I know this though:
I know this though:
Life is precious.
My heart is broken.
I live.
I live in a country where you won't die for skipping out on your restaurant tab.
I live in a country where you won't die for skipping out on your restaurant tab.
Where you have a chance.
I've seen hopelessness and death.
I've SEEN IT.
SEEN IT
Let's not go there.
Let's not be those people.
Let's fucking get over it okay?
Let's live.
Let's love.
Let's be excellent to each other.
I've seen hopelessness and death.
I've SEEN IT.
SEEN IT
Let's not go there.
Let's not be those people.
Let's fucking get over it okay?
Let's live.
Let's love.
Let's be excellent to each other.
Let's.
2 comments:
Some of us have witnessed too much death, but I agree with you...Let's...
Except for my dad death in a hospital bed, I've never seen anyone die violently. I'm really sorry for what you are going through. This kind of experience is terrifying and replays itself (two incidents–that didn't result in death that I've told you about–inform me). A person goes through some horrific stages in ptsd. I want you to be ok. It sounds like you are suffering. I'm just glad you are writing it *out*. Stay strong, Brook.
Post a Comment