Mary walks down to the water's edge and there she hangs her head
To
find herself faded, a shadow of what she once was
She said "How long have I been sleeping and why do I feel so old?
Why do I feel so cold? My heart is saying one thing but my body won't
let go"
With trembling hands she reaches up a stranger's flesh is offered
And I would be the last to know; I would be the last the let it show
I would be the last to go
Take her hand she will lead you through the fire
Give you back hope and hope that you won't take too much
Respecting what is left she cradled us, she held us in her arms
Unselfish
in her suffering she could not understand
That no one seemed to have the time to cherish what was given
And
I would be the last to know and I would be the last to let it show
I
would be the last to go...
Mary walks...
I've been sleeping for three weeks. And about ten and a half years. I'm still trying to figure out what happened. What went wrong?
When I first saw Victoria again by the stairs, I wasn't even sure if it was her. I thought I might be hallucinating. I could hear Ray in my ear going on like always, but the rest of the world was silent. And there was snow.
I thought I would finally be happy. I would have a lover and a best friend and maybe I was naive enough to think they might be friends. But Victoria was caught up in the darkness that threatened to consume her, a darkness that I created by sending her to prison.
It was impossible to keep up with both of them and I had to choose. Stay with one and hurt the other. It was a no-win situation, but I didn't realize it until the choice was taken out of my hands by the bullet which put me in this bed.
I couldn't fix things with Victoria. It's too late for that now. The question now is, can I fix things with Ray? Should I? Maybe it would be for the best if I walked away before somebody else got hurt.
I shot my best friend. In the back. And I don't know why. I thought she had a gun. But I'll never know if it was real, or a trick of the light, or a trick of my mind. Did I shoot at her to protect my friend, or did I shoot at him because he was going to leave? I don't know.
If I was a cop I would check into my motives. There are so many of them: love, hate, greed, anger, insanity . . .
He's going to live, and somehow we'll probably repair our friendship if I can convince him that I thought she had a gun; that I had to take her in and save my job, my house, my family. He can understand those reasons; they make sense. But are they the truth? I just don't know. The only thing I know right now is that I can't not fix this. I've had a glimpse of what my life would be like, and I don't like it. There's no way I can go back to being alone now.
He's my best friend, and I shot him. Go figure.