That Roof of 30th

If you had climbed onto the weak, damp roof of the old abandoned house, two lonely streets away from the tarred Durante road, you would probably have been an upset, troubled or heartbroken, maybe weird person… or just a person up to no good.

You would have marveled at how beautiful the town looked that night. You may have whistled or sung or written a poem, an ode maybe, to the roof of the abandoned, probably haunted house, the infamous number 30.

You would have crawled into the shadows as you heard the muffled sound of a girl’s cry. You may have wondered what she was doing out by herself. You would have considered, even tried coming down to help her.

You would have stopped, dead in stealthy tracks.

You would have noticed she was naked, bruised, bleeding. You would have noticed her pretty hair, her even prettier face. Your heart may have stopped, for you would have known her. Would have known she was the head chorister of the big catholic church up town. Might have screamed when you saw the second character, the antagonist pointing his knife at her as he screamed: F*****g b***h! You shouldn't have tried to blackmail me!

You may have screamed too because the voice was so loud it might have been right in your ear.

The atmosphere would have suddenly become chilly, your limbs too numb to even bring your hands to close your ears. Your breath so loud and heavy you feared being heard. How come he didn't hear?

You would have jumped as he plunged the knife into her belly, and pulled it out, and plunged again and again and again! You could have sworn he was matching the rhythm of your violent heartbeat!

You would have been scared, traumatized, amazed that your eyes were still wide open, awake despite all the chaos going on in your head, in your chest! How come you hadn't passed out?

And you would not believe it! He would turn around and look right at you… Through you actually for his wild eyes scanned the area and all he did was walk away. And you saw his face. Recognized it, recognized him. You should tell! You should tell! The pretty, pretty chorister was dead and you could bring her last justice…

But you wouldn't… As your fear takes on a new form, a grave form. You know you wouldn't tell. Could never tell…

The crazy man… he would be your brother.