So Remember

It's a very short story based on a weird dream I had once. Maybe I had been watching too much CSI. I didn't use names, I didn't want to.

In his line of work, he usually didn't meet the victims until they were already dead. He had seen the little girl earlier that day, clutching her mother's dress as they were waiting in line at the grocery store. The tiny face had seemed strangely calm and patient for her age, almost like she was resigned to waiting her whole life away. The detective hadn't given the girl a second thought as he checked out at the register and continued on his way home. Yet here she was, only a few hours later. Except now she was a cold little body laying in the floor of a barren living room; just another victim of domestic violence. The mother was being rushed to the hospital, unconscious with a couple of broken ribs and a punctured lung. She didn't know yet that her child was dead. The drunken father was still on the scene,trying to resist being handcuffed by the surrounding police officers. He was repeatedly yelling out to anyone who could hear him, his face flushed red with alcohol.

 

"I didn't mean to, it - it was just an accident! She was in my way and I just gave her a little push. That was all, I swear! I didn't do anything wrong!"

 

The detective could smell the booze on the man's breath from across the room, and tried to block it out as he took count of all the faded bruises scattered across the 3 year old's skin. She had obviously been abused before. Only this time, it had been lethal. He stared down at the battered body for a moment longer, then in a calm rage turned to look at him. "What are you making excuses for? Exactly whose forgiveness do you want? ...Hers?  She can't forgive you now. The dead can't forgive anybody, they can only be remembered!"

 

As his voice rose, he realized he was losing control. The detective choked back the rest of his words and watched as the officers escorted the man to the police car waiting outside. He stood quietly, guarding the body until eventually the others arrived and began taking samples. He surveyed the room blindly for a moment and then finally walked out of the cramped house, staggering underneath his own guilt. He understood who those words had really been directed to.

 

Author's Note

It's been a VERY long time since I have written anything besides random poetry, so I am sure this has a lot of mistakes. Seeing as how, as a reader, I loathe long-winded descriptions, I was afraid I hadn't done enough. I am also worried about how I did the dialogue, not that there is much of it. So please let me know your thoughts.