She Was Born

She was born a free spirit. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She loved me and I loved her.

Her name was Maria . . . her soul was . . . her soul told my soul that I was worthy of her love.

She touched me . . .

She loved me . . .

Then she was taken from me.

It was a still morning. The sun was beneath the horizon. I awoke because of the sound. The scream. The horror.

Without thinking, I ran to where I thought the screams originated. But dreams can fool you.

I was alone. And she was dead.

It doesn’t matter. We all die. We are all born with a death sentence.

Her body lay before me.

Her eyes looked into mine.

But she saw naught.

She . . .

was dead.

She was my love and she was dead.

And the man that killed her was my brother.

Now he must die.

I loved her.

But as I looked at her broken body . . .

I knew that was not her . . .

Her essence . . . had fled to another part of the universe

I retrieved my gun and went in search of my brother.

He was where I knew him to be.

I raised the gun and stuck the barrel into his ear.

His brains sprayed out

His blood formed a red mist.

He was gone.

But his death did not bring my Maria back.

Now I will join her.

The gun barrel

Feels right

It is in my mouth

I pull the hammer back

My hand is on the trigger.

My mind is on Maria

My finger squeezes the trigger.