“Come on, come on, we’ll
catch you, you animal. How’s he? Alive or dead?”
And he hid in the corner,
afraid of the men knocking his door down.
He didn’t do anything wrong,
he thought. He just didn’t want to be alone anymore.
The man fought him; he didn’t want to be with
him, so he grabbed him by force, just like when he was a kid and his father hit
him and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him inside the house like a ragdoll,
helpless, and locking him in the dark pantry.
He was nice. He allowed the
man to sit in the living-room with him. He fed him, he gave him water. The man
tried to escape, so he had to chain him to the sofa. And the wheel of time
turned slowly.
The man wouldn’t shut up,
like his father cussing him all the way from the front yard for hours and hours,
and endless hours of darkness. So, he hit the man to silence him, at least for
a few minutes, just a few minutes of quietness, just a little bit of peace.
“Come on. Open the door.”
But they never gave him any
peace. They kept hitting the door, slamming away a storm in his head.
When the door finally
opened, all had died inside. Some had died a bit with the horror of what they
saw. Others died for good, like him, a dead man walking from the time when he
was still a child and his mother slammed the door and walked away, leaving him
behind, alone and helpless.
For him, the door had
finally closed. It was the end.
