My hands clung to the blood like Velcro. Had this really happened? I asked myself repeatedly. I would always get the same answer.
Now I walk down the street, with fear on my face that another innocent soul has been murdered. I walk, and I walk. I watch all of the suspicious characters. I pull my kap closer, hoping to seek comfort in the world I now know. I know it is cruel. I keep on walking.
Now I am almost to my apartment. I pray to god to keep me safe. He replies. I walk home pagina unscathed, even though knowing I must walk into the cruel world again. I sit on the couch, to eat a snack, and thank God, for letting me walk home pagina safe. Thus ends my day. I dream sweet dreams, ones where the world is not cruel. One where psychopaths don't run around the streets with a thirst for blood and an eye for murder. My dreams are far from reality. I know. However, I keep dreaming. Dreaming of a dag when the world is right. My world. I am the the only one who thinks this rationally. The rest of the team carries on without him. Say it's 'alright to feel sad.' Then why do they never use his name in front of me? I am the only one who wants to change the world. The only person who is right. And I awake. Feeling terrible because now I'll have to live my nightmare again. Like I have for the past fourteen years.
I'm sure Kowalski is the only thing keeping me sane. When I have a break-down, which I do often, Kowalski hold me close and whispers sweet promises in my ear. He truly is my only lifeline. He saved me from suicide 14 years ago, when Rico died.
Claudia sat on the kers-, cherry piano chair, in the center of the New York church. She was very nervous, she never intended it to get out that she was an amateur composer. Now everyone expected her to just play a song she made, for her brother, at his funeral. She looked around at the roses hung on the wall, and the wailing mourners standing around her. She was so nervous, that she was sweating, and her hands were clammy. She wanted less than anything else did in the world than to mess up at her brother's funeral. So she began to play. Her fingers danced across the ivory and ebony landscape, running freely, like a stallion, let loose door the wind. Then she stopped. "This is a song that I made for my brother. I never expected to play it, because I never expected him to die, but I still love it." She played again, and once again, the stallion was set free, running wherever the wind would take it. And she began to sing. "You knowed that I'll always love you, even if we do have fights, but now you're gone, and I can't take back those things I zei on those bitter nights." She stopped playing, and stormed away, out of the church. In the church, the rest of the team was whispering. "Kowalski, u go find her. We'll stay here and keep the mourners busy." Skipper said. So Kowalski ran outside to find her. After a few minuten of perilous searching, he found her laying out in the graveyard. So he ran up, but it was too late. He saw her, she was on her brother's grave, with a pocket razor in her hand, deep slits in her arms, and the crimson liquid staining her silky black dress. "No." He said. "No, no, no, no, no!" He dropped down, and to a great relief, found out she was still alive. So he tightly constricted her wrists, and carried her back into the church and set her on the last pew. "Listen! There's a dying girl in this back row and if we don't hurry and take her to the hospital, we're gonna have another funeral in our hands pretty soon!" So Skipper, Private, and the mourners turned back to where he was. They all started to call 911. "IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT! WE HAVE TO GET HER THERE NOW!" Kowalski screamed. And so Skipper grabbed her, put her and Kowalski in the back seat, and drove at 500mph to the hospital.
And so now, every day, I thank Kowalski for what he did for me, and tell him I owe him my life, and he just smiles and says; "It is fine." And that's how my days go on. It is fine. It is fine. It is fine. Well, I still think I owe him life. And he knows that. And I wait.
Now I walk down the street, with fear on my face that another innocent soul has been murdered. I walk, and I walk. I watch all of the suspicious characters. I pull my kap closer, hoping to seek comfort in the world I now know. I know it is cruel. I keep on walking.
Now I am almost to my apartment. I pray to god to keep me safe. He replies. I walk home pagina unscathed, even though knowing I must walk into the cruel world again. I sit on the couch, to eat a snack, and thank God, for letting me walk home pagina safe. Thus ends my day. I dream sweet dreams, ones where the world is not cruel. One where psychopaths don't run around the streets with a thirst for blood and an eye for murder. My dreams are far from reality. I know. However, I keep dreaming. Dreaming of a dag when the world is right. My world. I am the the only one who thinks this rationally. The rest of the team carries on without him. Say it's 'alright to feel sad.' Then why do they never use his name in front of me? I am the only one who wants to change the world. The only person who is right. And I awake. Feeling terrible because now I'll have to live my nightmare again. Like I have for the past fourteen years.
I'm sure Kowalski is the only thing keeping me sane. When I have a break-down, which I do often, Kowalski hold me close and whispers sweet promises in my ear. He truly is my only lifeline. He saved me from suicide 14 years ago, when Rico died.
Claudia sat on the kers-, cherry piano chair, in the center of the New York church. She was very nervous, she never intended it to get out that she was an amateur composer. Now everyone expected her to just play a song she made, for her brother, at his funeral. She looked around at the roses hung on the wall, and the wailing mourners standing around her. She was so nervous, that she was sweating, and her hands were clammy. She wanted less than anything else did in the world than to mess up at her brother's funeral. So she began to play. Her fingers danced across the ivory and ebony landscape, running freely, like a stallion, let loose door the wind. Then she stopped. "This is a song that I made for my brother. I never expected to play it, because I never expected him to die, but I still love it." She played again, and once again, the stallion was set free, running wherever the wind would take it. And she began to sing. "You knowed that I'll always love you, even if we do have fights, but now you're gone, and I can't take back those things I zei on those bitter nights." She stopped playing, and stormed away, out of the church. In the church, the rest of the team was whispering. "Kowalski, u go find her. We'll stay here and keep the mourners busy." Skipper said. So Kowalski ran outside to find her. After a few minuten of perilous searching, he found her laying out in the graveyard. So he ran up, but it was too late. He saw her, she was on her brother's grave, with a pocket razor in her hand, deep slits in her arms, and the crimson liquid staining her silky black dress. "No." He said. "No, no, no, no, no!" He dropped down, and to a great relief, found out she was still alive. So he tightly constricted her wrists, and carried her back into the church and set her on the last pew. "Listen! There's a dying girl in this back row and if we don't hurry and take her to the hospital, we're gonna have another funeral in our hands pretty soon!" So Skipper, Private, and the mourners turned back to where he was. They all started to call 911. "IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT! WE HAVE TO GET HER THERE NOW!" Kowalski screamed. And so Skipper grabbed her, put her and Kowalski in the back seat, and drove at 500mph to the hospital.
And so now, every day, I thank Kowalski for what he did for me, and tell him I owe him my life, and he just smiles and says; "It is fine." And that's how my days go on. It is fine. It is fine. It is fine. Well, I still think I owe him life. And he knows that. And I wait.
