Dead Man Crying (A fiction)

"I wonder if you will slowly rot to dead.

If your decaying heart would stench while you talk

Smelling wounded flesh

a walking catacomb

a dead man walking"


It was the last poetry John read after deciding to let go of a romance rooted back in 1st year high school. His throat tightened from guilt and frustration. The veins in his eyes suddenly pumped warm red blood, suggesting an outburst of tears later on.

Slowly, he folded the once crumpled paper -- with blood stains embracing the dirtiness of it-- and tacked it inside his breast pocket. He stood up from the concrete street soaked red blood.

There were commotions as he passed by the busy paramedics who weren't minding his presence.

He bumped everyone he passed, and they were staring at him and the blood stains. He ignored them all.

A hand took his shoulder too strong for him to ignore. "Son where are you going? You haven't told us what happened" demanded the police officer who caught him.

"She saved my life" John muttered, then he broke up into tears.
"She saved my life, even when I was dead"

-- and his cries were drowned by the siren who came to rescue too late.