#16- Massacre.

Watching the news.

Took a nap, this afternoon.

Tired of Easter and family.

Needed a break.

Woke to chaos.

Saw the news.

People frantically 

Checking with loved ones.

Messaging friends,

Seeing who's where.

Who's safe.

Fear growing inside.

Because he's still out there.

Noticed you log on, Miss.

Usually quick to message me

Immediately, these past few days.

Asking me how I am,

About my day.

Nothing tonight.

Silence.

Anxiety.

Worry growing inside. 

Desire to talk to you

Building as well.

It's just something people do,

At a time like this.

Couldn't wait.

Sent you a message.

Tension.

Regret.

Understood immediately.

You said something

About Him letting 

You play a bit

On His fancy new monitor

Tonight.

Telling me about visiting

Your friend today.  

Again.

Can't tell if you didn't remember

Saying it the first time,

Earlier today.

Or if you didn't want Him to know

We were talking 

Just a bit ago.

Slowly back away.  

Can't talk to you now,

Not while He's around.  

Not safe.

Close window.  

Open others.

Trying to avoid reading

Too much, yet,

About the "massacre."

Too soon. Too fresh.

Failure.

Curious and fearful.

So it's all about a woman, huh?

It's all so very fucked up, Miss.

But only so much that for a moment

I had to convince myself,

That I could never be that bad.

Pain in my chest returns, 

For a bit.

You hurt me, severely,

But that could never be me,

Right?

Author's Note

Grim thoughts on this bloody Easter Sunday.