My Silence

“Why? That would be the only question I would have to ask. Why would she do this to my baby girl?” Miss Crimson one of the most notorious serial killers of the twenty first century has been put to death. Crimson killed 30 people over the span of two years in the cover of night….”

The British narrator droned on about Crimson, the worst serial killer of the 21st century. His voice filled the small office room making my blood boil. This is "my" story. This is the legacy that has been left behind for the next generations to remember me by. This is “my” mark that has been left behind for the world. But, this story is not my own. The killer they arrested is me but it should not be. 

In endless circles they drove looking for the butcherer of innocent lives. Looking only with their two dimensional eye sight with I happening to be so close by their two dimensional circle turned to a sphere but to them, they saw a straight line. This line was the final step to closing the case. Oh, how they do not see nor do they think, they just do and that is there greatest fault. You see, I am a witness, I am a victim, but they only see a monster.

As this disgraceful documentary has stated I had been sentenced to death. But what they do not state is that it’s for the fault of another man. When they arrested me I did not object. What good would it have done me? They were like a dog with a bone, unwilling to give up there prize. So with every harsh word they lashed out at me I replied with the sweet silence of nothing. For you see I did not speak then, nor do I now. I am not mute but I stopped speaking long ago for reasons I'm not quite sure are my own. My impeding death did not encourage me to speak. Sooner or later they would have realized what they've done. When I was still alive I remember their abusive treatment, how they would throw me to my destinations, let others spit on me, and every now and then get in a good hit. But, I did nothing for they were happy. They thought they had found Crimson. That things could go back to peace, but they wouldn’t. I am the key to finding the man who's framed me. His only surviving victim, this was his plan. He can now hide in peace while I am doomed to wander this Earth searching for mine.

I can hear his cruel laugh in my ears smiling and not shedding a tear. I remember his eyes so mean and uncaring how have I been confused with such a beast? That trip down the hall was one of peace. No birds to sing or mouse to squeak. Nature knows the truth for she is pure, the people ahead are just full of greed. Roughly the officers had strapped me down to the cold and uncomfotable bed. I only complied with them preparing for my last breath of this putrid prison atmosphere. 

Everyone stared with malicious grins and anger. Except for the young camera man whose gaze was curious but full of fear. Instead of looking at my impending demise he consumed my focus. For in my last living moments I realized he is gold, he is pure. His colleagues had not yet corrupted him and fueled him with hatred. My gaze made him squirm but his did not leave mine so I lay while he stood continuing our curiosity fueled staring contest. That's when I felt something rise in my chest and swim through my veins. Something that felt strange and new but old and familiar in a sense. I continued starring as that feeling gained in intensity. Through some miracle he seemed to sense what was happening and took a slow and weary step forward never breaking our contest. Soon enough I had felt as though I might burst and finally decided that this feeling was something innocent, just like the young man in front of me.

"I am not Crimson," I uttered so quietly and in such a hoarse voice I was positive that he could not have heard.

Oh, how contrary that is as that day I saw his eyes widen with shock and doubt and then trust. That is the power of eye contact.

Alas, the prison guards had had enough of me and I slowly felt the poison creep through my veins like a steady army of ants. My heart beat, once strong and steady, started slowing to a crawl. While my vision soon after started to fade leaving me to wonder about my last words. I had supposed then that I had to make them count. "Find him," I whispered praying I would not die for nothing.

Immediately, I saw his eyes harden with determination but there was something else hidden within his emerald depths. In my last dying moments I could not figure out what it was. I now figure it must have been regret for letting an innocent woman die, but that hardly matters now for he knows the truth. 

With my last breath I decided to focus solely on his beautiful emerald eyes that were the last innocent object that I saw before fading into the blissful emptiness of death.

Nevertheless, I wander these prison halls waiting for him. That hope he fueled me with in my last living moments appears to have been everlasting. It is the sole thing that has kept me sane and from turning into the other Hell distorted creatures I have witnessed in my time stuck in the shadow realm of Earth. Besides waiting I have pondered what that feeling, so pure and innocent, that I had felt before my untimely demise was and why I felt it then of all times. It was familiar like a book you haven’t read in years so you’ve forgotten what it’s about. 

Since I am now without a sense of time I am unable to tell you how long it took me to figure out what this feeling was. But, I am positive it is an embarrassingly long time. You see, I had to reflect upon my life as a child to understand and once I did I soon remembered why it is such a beautiful feeling and what it was. In my dying moments the emotion that surged through my veins faster than any poison was, hope.