WordPlay May 2011
03 May 2011
The Victim - By Sasha Beatie
My car was almost driving by itself as I wearily navigated through the darkness.
A sudden flicker of movement was caught in the headlights and I braked with a curse as the jolt of adrenaline surged though my limbs.
Feeling certain I’d hit whatever it was I got out and shakily checked the front of the car. What lay on the bitumen before me was not what I’d expected. Bewildered, I knelt and picked up the victim of my absent-mindedness. Light as a feather and so amazingly beautiful I became consumed by the swell of deep shame and pity that caused my stomach to clench.
I carried it back to the car placing it carefully on the passenger seat desperately hoping it managed to survive. I wasn’t usually so emotionally charged but after my rough and rugged day I couldn’t deny how unsettled I was at having ended the life of a living, breathing creature. I remembered how full of remorse I’d been after hitting a wayward rabbit, but this was different. This just seemed so wrong.
My senses were on full alert as I drove the rest of the way home. I glanced down occasionally, futilely praying that it would be alright.
When I pulled into the drive I gingerly picked it up again. Totally limp I couldn’t see it breathe and it hadn’t moved since I’d initially hit it.
I raced inside with my hands shielding the tiny body as I went straight to the kitchen and used several tissues to lay it ever so gently on the bench.
Alone, with only the moonlight shining through the window, I was overcome by the sudden urge to cry.
My six-year-old daughter wandered into the kitchen yawning and rubbing her eyes. I barely noticed her until she was at my elbow.
With her voice slightly croaky with sleep she said, “Is the fairy dead, Mummy?”
Stay in touch with Docklands. Subscribe to FREE monthly e-Newspaper.
You must be registered with Docklands News to be able to post comments.
To register, please click here.