Shine (nirbhao) wrote in nonfiction,
Shine
nirbhao
nonfiction

piece 2

reminder: I am working on a project of writing my nightmares out. I would love feedback for the purposed of readability. I will be posting what I have as I have it ready under a cut.

and feel free to be harsh with criticism, because I am looking to improve the work. but, please, don't just say, "this sucks." tell me why you don't like what you don't like and maybe even give me a suggestion on how to make it better.

thanks.

He has been blind from birth. She lost her sight in a car accident at the age of 27. They make a great couple. They go to movies together and even make jokes about the sight gags they can’t see.

She didn’t know that he had a love interest on the side.

I was the ghost in the room. I was the fly on the wall. I was the dust mite in the carpet. I was there when she caught him in the act. I saw the woman who couldn’t see where she was going step smoothly to the kitchen and take the biggest knife out of the rack. He thought he was in a better position to fight because he had a gun, but his aim was only good enough to graze—first her cheekbone and then her shoulder.

There was no climax. Instead, the fight fizzled out. The two lay on the floor of their apartment breathing shallowly. Slowly, the breaths stopped coming. I had to remind myself to breathe.

The police came shortly after the silence. They tore the apartment up with noise and chalk and body bags. No one approached me. No one talked to me. I didn’t draw attention to myself. I didn’t want to be blamed.

I reminded myself to breathe. “Shine,” I told myself, “Breathe through this.” I tried to keep my thoughts focused on the rise and fall of my chest and not on the image of his sliced-open check rubbing against the bar of soap. I wanted to scream. If he hadn’t been blind, he wouldn’t have done that!

But what does it really matter? He was going to die anyway.

There was a child there. I thought she belonged to them, so I took her in. I just kept my mouth shut. No one came looking for her, and she and I were happy together. We were at least as happy as two people could be, having witnessed the horrible scene we had.

Like many of the other tenants, we rode the elevator. Their apartment had been high in the building, and so people often talked on the ride up and down. People began to speculate about what might have happened. They didn’t know about the murders. They didn’t know about the love and hate. They didn’t know about the little girl. They didn’t know about me.

I knew exactly what happened in this brand new building in the shape of an E. I knew what happened in the room beside the fountains and the trees. I knew the sinister spirits lingering in the beautiful place.

One day, I was riding the elevator back up to my apartment without the girl. In the elevator with me were a man and a female police officer. I was relieved that I was alone when the man started describing the girl. He had left her in a bathroom and he hadn’t seen her in several days. He was worried.

I was worried, too. I was worried that she would be in my apartment. I was worried that she would approach me.

I didn't go to my room. I sat in a pool in my clothing. I thought maybe I could pass as one of the entertainers in the complex. One of the entertainers was sitting in the fountain, singing, and I approached her. “Let’s sing,” I suggested. She responded by suggesting a song about buckeyes. I only knew the first line, but I belted it out, hoping she would join in or take over. Instead, she just sat there. I looked at her, annoyed, and I started to explain that I didn’t know the rest of the song.

She held her hand out to quiet me. She was distracted, watching the police officer knocking on doors. The officer didn’t get to my door before the girl walked from my apartment toward the fountain. The girl’s father saw her and relief washed over him.

The police officer asked the girl if she wanted to go home with her father. The girl said, “I’m okay not seeing Shine anymore.”

I held my breath, but the police officer didn’t know my name. The police officer also apparently didn’t think to ask who I was.

I waited until neither the police officer nor the father was looking, and then I winked at the girl. I was devastated and terrified, but I wanted to comfort her.

“She came out of the apartment…” the police officer started. “No one lives in that apartment right now. There was an accident there recently.”

“Oh?” said the father, understanding that accident meant death. “Maybe my daughter has been talking to a ghost.”
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