The blade was already digging deep in her skin; droplets of blood oozing out. She could’ve ended it in a fraction of a second, but she didn’t. Instead, she tasted her own blood- yes, tasted it. It tasted like rust; nothing like the red wine she had imagined it to bear resemblance to. But it was pleasant nonetheless. It seemed to affect her strangely. Suddenly, she could hear her own heartbeats distinctly. It seemed to her that somebody had wrenched her heart and held it close to her ears; so unmistakably audible.
She was startled for a moment. Had she died, perhaps? Yes! That seems only plausible. She had, after all, managed to kill herself. Yet, she could feel it hammering against her chest; proof enough that it was still there. She WAS alive, then.
She could still feel the cold blood running through her veins searching for any nook or cranny of her body that wasn’t insensate yet. The biting cold blood surging ahead... Cold. Blood. COLD?!?! She was perplexed. Wasn’t blood supposed to be warm and revitalising? She felt for the handkerchief she now remembered tying across that cut. It was wet, but not with blood. Instead- she now saw- it was ice cold water.
Water? She found herself at a loss again. Just then a strong gust of wind blew away her scarf and she came out of the trance. She found herself standing in the exact centre of the town square. She had no recollection of taking that ever familiar lift from the fourth floor where her apartment was located; no recollection of taking the stairs either. Yet here she was- in the town square- and what she had imagined to be heartbeats and blood were the howling wind and rain, respectively.
Perplexed at first, she snapped back to her senses. It didn’t matter how she had reached the town square. The rain had done something good, it seemed. She now realised the terrible mistake she was about to commit barely 10 minutes ago. Her husband had been killed, yes; her entire family had been wiped out in that attack, true. But she was alive and healthy and so was her daughter. It hadn’t even been 3 days since the family’s demise and she was contemplating suicide!
As if on cue, her 5-year-old’s laughter rang in her ears. There she was- 4 floors above in their apartment- calling out to her. Her deep brown hair billowing about in the fierce wind as she cried- “I want to play in the rain too mommy. I want to go out with you.”
She looked at that innocent little angel. The girl wasn’t even aware of the calamity that had struck them. “No,” she reminded herself. She had to live. She had to live for Samantha; the girl had already lost enough.
“Mommy, take me with you please mommy.”
She could almost feel the heat radiating from her once-numb body. She could not die anymore. Samantha needed her. Her daughter needed her.
“I’m coming darling, my angel, just a...”
Her last words died in her throat. All that remained of that moment was the blare of a horn, the screech of tires, a thud and a bloodcurdling scream.
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