by Jacquie Groom

Eyes open
Streetlamps shining bright in
The night sky.
A rushing, deafening sound
Round and round your brain.
Recollection ...
Flooding back.
"He shot Tessa!"
And then -
Slowly -
"He shot ... me!"
Hands reaching
For the wound that must be there.
You felt it hit
The wrench of flesh torn from flesh
The blood.
Nothing but torn clothing
And blood, drying in the chill night air.
A dream ?
Could it be ?
You lift yourself
Turn to see ...
Not a dream.
Duncan sits, cradling his love.
His motionless, oh-so-mortal love.
A broken doll.
He lifts his head
And looks at you.
And in his eyes you read it all.
You're like him.
No time yet to wonder why
No time for guilt
Or recriminations
Or even amazement, fear or joy
In the confusion
And the pain in his eyes
You wonder
Will it always hurt
Like this?

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