Witness

Depressing. Read at your own risk.

Her leaving the bed woke me up. She sat up and faced the window whose blinds let loose 

a few beams of light into the somber room. Her back was to me. Her shoulders shuddered with 

the pain of tears. 

“Baby what’s wrong?” I said. Or at least, I tried to say. My mouth moved, but no sound 

passed my lips. I tried again, nothing. I reached for her to calm her down. I could not touch her. 

She always seemed to be just out of grasp. Again I tried to call for her, but no sound came out. 

She turned to face where I lay. She stared at my pillow with heavy tears carving a trail down her 

cheek. I looked her in the eyes and mouthed, “Baby, are you okay? Jasmine what’s going on?” 

She did not respond. She did not even acknowledge me. She took the pillow I rested my head on, 

without effort. It was as if I wasn’t even there. She hugged the pillow close to her and buried her 

face into it. Her sobs were silent but she shuddered violently. I reached to stroke her arm, but 

again, she was too far. I should have felt something besides sorrow. Fear, anger, confusion all 

fled me. I knew what I had become but I didn’t know why. 

She sat there for another eighteen minutes until her alarm clock went off at 7:35. She set 

the pillow back where it was and smoothed it out. She slammed her hand on the clock to shut the 

alarm off. It was as if her actions weren’t her own. It looked as if something pulled her out of bed 

and moved her legs towards the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and I heard the shower 

begin. 

I got up and left the bedroom. The rest of the apartment was in chaos. The sink was 

littered with dirty plates and bowls. Flies buzzed softly around the garbage that overflowed with 

half eaten food. The fridge swung open with only a jar of pickles and chocolate sauce in the 

door. The light in it was off. The fridge had no power. The utensil drawer was open. There were 

only knives left. Everything else had been used. The pillows from the couch had been strewn 

across the carpeted floor. 

I came to the second bedroom. The door was shut and there was dust on the handle. I 

turned the knob and remembered everything. The carpet was caked with blood. The sheets on the 

guest bed had been replaced, but the mattress under had already been stained maroon. It couldn’t 

have been Jasmine’s blood. There was too much. No, whoevers this was had to be... I looked 

down to my arms. A phantom knife split three long cuts from wrist to elbow. Tendon and muscle 

showed itself from under the skin. I could see them contort and turn as I gripped my fingers into 

a fist. I must have bled out in only seconds. I felt no pain of a physical nature. If I had any blood 

left in my body it would have turned to ice. I’d taken myself from her. Why would I do that. 

I drug my bare feet across the stiff carpet. I wanted to see Jasmine. I sat on the bed and 

waited for her to get out of the shower. This was the only room in the apartment that was 

somewhat put together. The books were casually placed on the bookshelf. Books on love and 

philosophy, books on loss and having, books on war and peace, books of fiction and reality. Jaz 

always loved reading. None of the books had left their home however. No dust was disturbed on 

the shelf. The nightstand on my side of the bed held only the lamp and my favorite book, The 

Old Man and the Sea. The bookmark in the book still held my place. I opened the book and the 

first sentence my eyes met was, “‘But man is not made for defeat,’ he said. ‘A man can be 

destroyed but not defeated.’” How ironic. I shut the book and opened the drawer. Inside was my 

old boy scout knife, still in it’s tanned leather sheath. That was a lifetime ago.  A deck of cards 

my father gave me before he left rattled in its tin can. A collection of Poe’s poems rested under 

the deck. In a small cloth pouch my dog tags and two engagement rings occupied the same chain. 

I was going to give it to her. I just got caught up in... life. 

I heard the water turn off. She was almost done now. I missed her. She came out of the 

bathroom with a towel on and was drying her hair. She walked over to her closet to get dressed. I 

could hear the clacking of plastic hangers and the “spritz spritz” of perfume being sprayed. These 

were comforting sounds I used to wake up to. She came out in a beautiful yellow sundress. Her 

curly blonde hair was still wet, making it look light brown. The dress brought out her sad green 

eyes that were cast downward. They were like emeralds in a fire. They had the intensity of a bear 

protecting its cub, yet the intelligence of a quiet girl who sits and observes her surroundings. Her 

hair fell down to the small of her back and her cheeks had laugh lines sculpted in. Her face knew 

happiness, even if her soul did not. She was no longer moved like a marionette, she moved like 

water through the room, nothing gave her resistance. I followed her out into the main room.

Things were not the same as when I had last been in here. The dishes were no longer in 

the sink, the couch was put together, the trash was empty, and the refrigerator hummed with life. 

I don’t know what happened but I didn’t question it. Jaz began to make herself cereal for 

breakfast. She poured orange juice into a tall glass. She sat down and played with the cereal in 

the bowl. She did not eat. Tears welled up in her eyes again. I wanted to brush them from her 

cheek and tell her that I was still here. I wanted to kiss her on the forehead and hold her until the 

tears stopped. I wanted her to live again. She poured the breakfast down the drain and went to the 

couch. She turned on the tv and stared at the wall above it. 

She stayed like this for what seemed an eternity but only lasted one episode of some soap 

opera. The doctors of the hospital had to save a little boy by giving him a kidney transplant. He 

got a kidney from one of the main character’s kids that passed away the same day. Then 

someone pushed someone down the stairs. We used to laugh together about how awful these 

shows were. But now if you looked at her, you would never have thought her to have even 

known what laughter is. The credits crawled across the screen as the doorbell rang. She looked 

over to the door, sighed, wiped her eyes, sighed again, and went to answer it. She looked through 

the keyhole and set her head against the door and closed her eyes. 

“Jaz? Jasmine who is it?” I tried to ask. I still could not grip that my words would not 

meet air. She unlocked the door, but left the door chain on. 

“Wh­what do you want.” She stuttered through the words. Her voice was used to nothing 

but sobs. “Why the hell are you here.”

“Easy Jasmine, I just want to talk.” The voice was deep and saturated with a foreign 

accent. “I think we need to talk about what happened between us.”

“There is no ‘us’.” She said. Her hand gripped into a fist and shook. “There never was an 

‘us’ and there never will be an ‘us’.” 

The deep voice sighed, and there was silence for a few awkward moments. Then he said, 

“Jaz, you can’t deny that there is something between us. You remember what happened that 

night, just as well as I do.” 

“Of course I remember. I want to forget that it ever happened.” Her voice was heavy with 

anger with grief. “And I want you to stop coming here.”

Another sigh from the man. “Its not your fault that he killed himself Jaz. He cut himself 

up. Not­” Jaz slammed the door shut and locked the door. She went back to the couch and 

sobbed silently. My angel had cheated on me with whoever owned the deep voice. My angel had 

fallen from grace, but it didn’t matter to me. Not anymore at least. She could make mistakes. 

God knows I’ve made mine. I’ve forgiven her for hers. I hope she could forgive herself... I hope 

she can forgive me... If only I could tell her. I sat next to her and watched her cry, helpless. The 

ceiling fan spun, rattling against its support beam. 

She looked up at it. The tears dripped down her face, but it was solemn. She got up and 

went into our room. I did not follow her. I stayed in the room and waited. For what, I didn’t 

know. She came back in and was connecting two of my belts together. Why would she do that? 

She threw the interlocked belts on the couch next to me. She moved the coffee table towards the 

tv. She went to the kitchen and grabbed a chair.

“Jasmine no.” She set the chair under the fan.

“Jaz, please, please don’t. Jasmine I love you, please don’t.” She turned off the fan.

“Baby stop! Stop!” She stepped up on the chair and tied the belt around the shaft of the 

“Jazzy, you have so much to live for, please, please don’t!” She put the belt around her 

neck and tightened it. I reached for her, trying to grab her, trying to stop her. Her eyes were 

sunken and sad, but no more tears leaked from those emeralds. 

“I’m sorry Lucas.” And she fell.

She could not forgive herself.

Author's Note

Please be honest.