Dirge of a Dying Heart

crystal-mist

Life is a strange thing. It stretches on and on and on...even if you don't want it to. Even when you want to desperately escape from everything, something holds you back, be it a miniscule spec of fear or perhaps a hope that tomorrow might be a bit different. In retrospect, I guess that was exactly what kept me alive despite all that around me...A tiny spec of fear

I've wanted to leave everything behind, to die, multiple times. But...What awaited me on the other side of death? More pain? More nothingness? It was this question that prevented me from slitting my wrists or swallowing a hoard of sleeping pills. That's right; I guess I'm a coward after all.

I live the same sickening routine, day in and day out. At university I'm the constant victim of being bullied by the 'popular' girls. It's surprising really, the extent to which they'd carry out grudges just because I was confessed to by the guys they 'loved'. Once they threaded my sweater with needles and another time they even attempted to push me off a three storied building.

At home, I have to face my alcoholic father. Punches and bruises soon became part of the daily routine... I'd even been hit on the head with a broken beer bottle. And sadly yes, through all this hurt and abuse, I continued to live... Why though? What was the purpose of this existence?

Through all this agony there is only one thing that I love... The piano. When I play, I can forget everything. I can immerse myself completely in my music, I can drown out all those voices that hate my existence, and also pretend that I've never been told: 'It'd be better if you were never born.'

Today is a Sunday. And just as people make their routinely visit to the church, I make my visit to prison. My Uncle is the warden. And somewhere along the line I'd been convinced to go and play piano for the prisoners; fifteen minutes every week.

However, these prisoners aren't just any ordinary criminals. Oh no, they were on death row. Each and every one of them had committed a crime so sinister that it invoked them capital punishment. And now, they lived every day, waiting for the time their name would be called forth... to die.

The reason I play for them, isn't for divine hope that I might 'heal their broken souls' or anything like that. Perhaps I wished that on one of these visits some random handcuff clad convict would strangle me to death...But of course, the criminals aren't let out of their cells. It's a strange feeling, playing melodies in a deserted room with only the guards watching, knowing that I was 'entertaining' this country's worst villains.

And after my 'performance' I would walk down the hall that housed their prison cells, a guard escorting me, my head bowed and a silver rosary between my fingers. Occasional cat-calls bounced off the prison wall. But in that brief journey towards the entrance I would pray...For some reason, I would pray.

It was on one such journey that I first encountered 'him'. It was irresponsible, but one day, the rosary slipped from my fingers and my foot accidentally thrust it into the cell of a random prisoner.

I stared at the cell labeled No:3985. There, sitting in the far corner of the dark cell was a man. A man with overgrown black hair, his hands cuffed like all the rest and his golden eyes listless. My rosary lay at his feet, yet he made no move to retrieve it.

"Uhm...Excuse me. Do you think you could pass me my necklace?"

No answer... He didn't even look at me.

The guard stopped beside me. "Hey Kazami, didn't you hear the lady?" he called out rather rudely.

The listless golden orbs stared at the silver cross and he muttered something inaudible before using his foot to shove it in my direction.

I bent over and picked up the necklace. I was by no means a religious patriot. But I couldn't stop myself from speaking. "It wouldn't hurt to respect God once in a while."

He muttered back the very same thought that had been haunting my mind for some time now. "God? What God?" And that made me freeze.

The guard put his arm on my shoulder and led me away. "You should know better than to preach religion to these guys."

"Yeah...I guess that was pretty stupid of me." I answered, but as my mind played back what had just happened I had unearthed something curious. What he'd muttered before kicking the rosary- 'Damn, not sharp enough.' Not sharp enough? What exactly had he been intending to do?

From the next day on, instead of bowing my head, I stared into every cell, at the faces of all those infamous terrorists. There were all kinds of expressions, varying from maniacal gleams to feigned happiness to gnawing regret.

But the most unique of them all, were the golden eyes of the prisoner called Kazami. They seemed not to have ever possessed a shred of anticipation, they were...dead. And for some reason I couldn't get those 'dead' eyes out of my mind.

Weeks passed and little by little I started learning their history, well aware that this was just an excuse to cover up my curiosity towards No: 3985's bleak expression.

And one day, I couldn't help but ask the guard who always accompanied me.

"He's a strange one, that Kazami." he spoke instantly. "We're all on high alert when it comes to him."

"Is he...that dangerous?"

"Well, yeah, he killed seven people, including a very important minister, that's why he's on death row... But the 'high alert' is because he's attempted suicide five times now."

My breath hitched in my throat. Suicide? Just then, the meaning of what he'd muttered upon seeing my rosary became crystal clear: 'Damn, not sharp enough.' He wanted to kill himself.

"I feel sorry for him though. He's the kind of person who's never known happiness, not once."

I stared at him, my lips drawn in a thin line. "Didn't he kill many people? How can you feel sorry?"

"He has no family, an orphan. The only person he had was his blind sister. And, the day he killed all those people, it was the same day she threw herself in front of a train...He probably just flew off his rocker... Unfortunately for him, he killed a minister. If not, his penalty might've been more lenient."

I felt my throat go dry as I listened. I knew the pain of loosing the only one in the world who meant anything to you... It was excruciating when my mother died. "Wouldn't it be easier for you guards if he committed suicide? You're going to kill him anyway, so the sooner the better? Just give him what he wants."

"There are laws against that."

"Hm...So, in other words, he can't die by any other means than a public hanging? It's just another way to establish the country's superiority over everything, isn't it?

"It's not just him. It's true for every other prisoner here."

"All this prejudice, it's nauseating."

"I know..." he murmured, his expression unreadable. "Why the sudden interest?" he asked me, chaning the subject.

"Because..." I whispered, staring at the ground, a vaguely sickening feeling clawing at my stomach. "I had a feeling that we were...similar."

"Right, your Uncle mentioned this as well. You...are a person who's only ever known happiness whilst playing the violi-" he hurriedly stopped short.

"Piano." I corrected, half-glaring at him. The violin...I hated the violin... I hated it.

My second encounter with prisoner no:3985, Shun Kazami was completely voluntary on my part. I went to the prison one Wednesday at 11:00 a.m, visiting hours. I had no idea what I wished to accomplish but my mind was telling me that this was indeed the right path to tread.

I sat in the room and watched as he appeared on the other side of the shatter-proof glass. He stared at me in a moments' fleeting surprise but soon settled on a stool in front of me. The glass that separated us had a few holes so that our voices would be heard to the other. A burly guard stood on his side of the glass.

The clocked ticked away slowly and we just sat there, the silence as dead as his golden eyes. The guard was starting to get annoyed. "Don't you people have anything to say?"

"Uh...so do you get many visitors?" I asked without thinking.

"Occasionally. Whenever the victims' families want to vent something out, they make it a point to come by and harass me."

I regretted my question immediately. How could I have forgotten? He...had no one. Just like me... "Aren't you wondering why I'm here?"

"Charity..." he replied instantly. "You came here to display your feigned sympathy, to flaunt your 'selfless compassion' by meeting a mass murdered, to take your bloated belief of righteousness and shove it down my throat...just like those nuns from church. People like you make me feel nauseous."

I studied his face through the glass. "That...is not why I came here." I spoke, battling the dryness in my throat. "I do not feel any sympathy, not at all. And I'm far from being righteous."

"Then what's your purpose?"

I gazed at him for a few second before shaking my head from side to side. "I don't know."

And then we both fell silent again. I was waiting for him to get tired of staring at my face and walk away, and perhaps he was waiting for the same... But neither of us budged...

There was a slight clang and a cuckoo emerged from the clock on my side of the room and counted twelve.

"Visiting hours are up." announced the guard impatiently. He really wanted out of the place and it was plain to see.

"I'll be back." I muttered, standing from my seat. For the life of me I couldn't understand why I wanted to come back or what I hoped to accomplish.

"W..what?" exclaimed the guard.

"I said I'll come next week too, during visiting hours." I repeated.

"Why?" This time it was Shun who spoke.

"To see you again."

"Why?" he demanded, his expressionless eyes locking with mine.

"I'll be back." I said again before turning my back to him and walking out the door.

The next Wednesday disaster struck. I received a call from my Uncle telling me that my Father had attacked a five year old child whilst on one of his tantrums. I rushed to the hospital only in time to see the cardiograph attached to that young girl drop dead.

"Don't worry." said a man, a lawyer, placing his had on my shoulder. "We can get your Dad evicted from these charges, no problem. A little money here and a little there, problem solved.

I whirled around to him in horror. He was trying to buy out the family of this poor child? My father, he deserved to be punished for these indiscriminate actions, didn't he?

I felt as if all the air in my lungs had been knocked out. I watched in horror as the Doctors pumped the child's chest all in vain, the poor child who would never get justice for her death. And before the tears could even find a chance to roll down my cheek I was struck to the ground.

"You!" shrieked a woman. "You're that goddamn man's daughter, aren't you?"

I stared at her, my fingers atop the bruise on my cheek. "I..."

"My baby! She was so young! And that man...killed her. KILLED HER! For what! Why? Why?" she demanded, pulling me up by the collar. None of the bystanders intervened as she struck at me again and again. "And now you want to BRIBE me! Give me MONEY in exchange of my daughter's LIFE?"

I didn't resist either. This woman, she deserved to vent out her rage. She probably wouldn't be able to hit my Father, but this...should be good enough, right?

"Give me back my daughter!"

"I'm sorry..." I cried, tears rolling down my swollen cheeks. "I'm so sorry..."

"Sorry...won't bring her back." muttered the woman, momentarily calming down.

And then I broke down completely. "You can take anything." I found myself saying. "I'm prepared to give yo"u anything, even my life..."

She stared at me, blankly, her eyes loosing all it's emotion. "Ask your father to take responsibility rather than giving out money. That's cowardly."

"Impossible." I muttered, my head bowed. "Right to this very date he hasn't even taken responsibility for killing his own wife! My mother." I wailed. I had accustomed myself with everything, even my Mother's murder, then why did it hurt so badly now? Why did my chest burn?

The woman's expression rage was replaced with shock as she watched me crumble to bits.

And then she did the most surprising thing, something that drove me right to the edge of sanity. She put her arms around me and hugged me. That action on her part only made my sobs increase in magnitude. Why would she do something like that? Why would she...try and comfort the daughter of the man who'd just killed her child in cold blood?

Before I even realized it I had extricated myself from her grip. I felt so overwhelmed, so besieged that everything seemed to whirl around so confusingly. When I finally came to I found myself standing in my father's room, my hands clasped around his throat, strangling him.

I pulled away in shock... I hadn't even realized what I was doing... Contrary to my fear he opened his eyes and stared at me with that drunken look still in his eyes. "Get outta' my room, maggot." He spat out.

In the next moment, I turned heel and dashed out of the room.

Very soon I was in front of the prison gate. The guards stared at me in surprise. "Hey, you okay?" they enquired in concern. I briefly glanced at a nearby mirror and could barely recognize myself. I had this deranged expression on my bruise-clad swollen face, i was barefoot and my hair was an absolute mess.

I ignored the ice-pack that someone held out for me.. "I need to see Shun Kazami." I demanded.

"Visiting hour only lasts for fifteen more minutes." said a guard.

"I don't care... I need to see him!"

When he entered the room, he stared at me, an involuntary spec of surprise crossing his face.

"I almost killed someone!" I exclaimed, moving closer to the glass separating us, the tears choking me once more, forgetting that a guard was also listening in to us talking. "I almost killed my own father!"

And for the first time I saw emotion in his eyes, unparallel shock.

End of Chapter.

Thank you for reading.