Death of an Innocent
I stepped into the shower. The water was already streaming down. I needed this. The drain was open and waiting. All my dirty secrets would be gone—out of sight and away. But each drop was heavy. Every sting was further pressing his fingerprints harder. Deeper into my skin. The water wouldn’t turn off fast enough. I collapsed to the bottom of the empty tub. I couldn’t kill it. I was so scared. The hum of the fan was too loud. I pressed my hands tight over my ears. But his words were louder than before. They had to be heard over the fan—shouting over the hum of the traffic. Please, please, please no. God save me. Oh no he said. Don’t call to God. You are an abomination. A sinner and unnatural. He took out his bible, preaching to me in the alley. One hand touching the pages, searching the word, the other searching my body. I picked myself out of the tub and turned on the news. A story about a country across the globe with weapons of mass destruction. Don’t they know about what happened tonight? The most powerful weapon of mass destruction was waved in my face.
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