see lots more at: http://coffinhop.com/coffin-hop-2013/ Oct 24, 31st, 2013
Hey Coffin Hoppers:
I’ve picked a number between 1 and 1,000.
Whoever guesses correctly or gets closest gets their name used as one of my characters in my next book. Only one guess per commenter, to be fair. Hop hearty. Visit all the sites. Aspen
Seeking My Answer
I crouch in shadows, between the crumpled fender and her. To the growing gaggle of vapid onlookers I appear to be comforting the victim.
You can call my presence comfort.
Frantic calls eddy and flow around me as other onlookers scream, calling out for the police and ambulance.
A car door opens. The sound of vomit spewing echoes across the pavement. Acid scents waft under the car, defeating, for a fleeting moment, the normal exhaust miasma of the city.
I stroke her hair, subtly removing it off the blood leaking from the massive wound on her torso.
I touch the liquid silver tears she sheds, tasting in them that salty effluence of primordial oneness.
Her eyes flutter open. She whimpers, grabbing my hand, squeezing my fingers in her pain. Guttural noises croak from her crushed throat, as if seeking absolution in these moments before death.
She knows these are her final moments; I can see that weighty knowledge shadowing her eyes.
I hunch further, shielding her from the cool, fall wind. That good Samaritan move allows the lone streetlight’s beam to shine across the growing pool of blood puddling in a concrete depression so ubiquitous in these city streets. It coagulates a thin skin on the surface, the breeze bunching it into wrinkles against the black road surface.
Fascinated, I lean forward, drawn by the wafting coppery scents to enjoy watching her body’s secretions seeking finality with the earth. I peer into that viscous mirror of her life, hoping to see some hint of exception, any sign of immortality.
Disappointed again, I watch it soak through the myriad of asphalt imperfections, striving to join infinity’s soul.
My focus returns to her eyes as her death rattles, timidly exhaling her final breath of sulfuric fouled air; perhaps proof of her destination. Her widening pupils, graying with death’s veil, capture my attention. I watch, captivated, hoping to catch that final moment, the soul’s release.
A speck of dirt, thrown by errant breezes I try to shield from, lodges in my eye. I blink and once again finality foils me.
Her wound only seeps now as her heart stops its life beat. The puddle skin of her blood pool, as black as the asphalt around it, glistens, reflecting only emptiness ay her final resting place.
I lean over that diminishing liquid, seeking absolution for my sin. Her death, one more experiment to find the truth behind our life-force, the reasons for housing the soul.
I stand, arms crossed, my submission only to grief. All the bystanders understand she fled life rather than fight.
The driver sobs, “I didn’t see her. She came from nowhere.”
Because I pushed her, I admit, deep in my mind. I work these streets, my laboratory, plying my sudden death experiments. I give no warning to either victims; the now soulless husk on the ground nor the shocked driver.
My humanity demands I seek answers in death for the pain in my heart.
I straighten, slump my shoulders in defeat. Another failure. Not in her death. Oh no. But in my quest for eternal truth.
I slouch away, my mind leaping ahead, planning my next ambush, conniving now on finding another’s inattention. I will not abandon my search for meaning to my life’s reason.