June 6th, 2002 - 8:58 a.m.

This morning, I surrendered again.

Ah, hallucinations. Keep one awake. Though I did sleep for three hours uninterruptedly. Oh, but when I awoke, what a horrifying sound!

The voice of a girl. 14ish? 15ish? Pleading. Then she became clear. Curled long brown hair. Delicate features contorted into a display of pain. Such a lovely sharp chin. Her bare arms, peaking from the underneath of a flowered cotton dress, flailing with mute agony. Her unclothed feet, madly crisscrossing the tender grass, point the camera at her feet, turn the volume down, and one might mistake it for a girl dancing to a wild song.

A man on the roof of the house. A gun to his head. His face blank. Almost calm. Almost.

�Papa, papa! Please don�t papa. Please. Please papa, for me. Papa. Live for me, papa. Papa, please. Papa, don�t. Oh God. Papa. Don�t. Papa, listen to me. Papa... Oh God. Please listen to me. Papa. Put the gun down. Papa? Papa? Listen to me. Please... Please, God.� So very frantic. Whimpering and screaming inbetween.

Then.

A gun shot. The scattering of body fragments. The blood. The smell of dying. The girl takes her hand. Covers her mouth. Then grabs handfuls of her hair. Sinks down to the floor. The lifeless body, brains reamed, thumps to the ground. She is voiceless. And can no longer move. Head sinks down, sandwiched between her knees.

Did this happen somewhere in this world? Could I have imagined it all? At first, I thought it was outside. But when the eyes cleared, and the noises faded, all I could see were the tops of trees, peeking in through the window. Fumbled for the alarm clock. 8:24 am. Got up. Expected to see the young girl on a lawn. Crouched.

No, I am not alright.

N.

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