The Voices Won

“the voices won”

“Time is now,”
voices whisper through mind and body.
Knife tip cool at her throat,
hand steady. 

No fear exists.
Pushing inch by inch,
no hesitation, seeking release
from the world of voices -
companions, friends and foes, givers and destroyers.

“No-no,” voices sing.
“Not far enough!
Take it out, try again - hard, fast, my friend.”

No thought, just response.
Cool blade slides slowly out,
hands grip, plunging it in. 
Nothing, no voices, no pain, no screams.

The Nightmare Begins

Walking knife protruding
from teenage neck
long hallway of denial
seeking maternal solace.
“Mom, I’m sorry,”
whispers voice not hers.

“Horrific halloween prank?”
First thought at sight.
Unworldly mind cannot comprehend.
Absently ironing, this cannot be.
“What am I seeing?”
Fear tickles her brain.

Trickles of blood bring reality,
heart exploding within her chest,
“Dear God, wake me.”
Scared to touch, scared to break.
Fix it, too much to bare!
Look away, eyes deceive.

“Jim, Jim, quick!”
Panic rare in house of calm.
Stumbling embrace of mother and daughter,
gut wrenching fear and numbness,
helplessness and hopelessness,
collide in a tangle of despair.

Sister hears cries,
takes in bedroom scene.
Mother crying, sis staring
something shiny at her throat.

“Hold her head, Rose. 
I have to get it out!” 

Rambling thoughts don’t connect.
“Knife from dinner? 
Don’t cry, Sis shhhhh.
Who did this? 
Iron smells hot.”

Blood spills freely,
knife lays glaringly aside.

Intuitively sensing calm she must bring,
angst is all she feels.
Child herself, too young for such sight,
sister’s blood on hands,
mother’s eyes plead for strength.
“I am but a child,”
heart cries.

Seconds passed, or eternity, 
man rushes in.

“Carry.  Car, Jim.  Hospital,”
broken cries escape wife.
Processing not believing.
“Why did you remove it?”
Wrong thing to say,
logical thoughts masking emotional tears.

Not his family, 
not in his home.
Tough outer shell diminishing,
the protector has failed.
Guilt and fear battle
in his churning gut.

Lifting effortlessly avoiding the pale face,
forty miles the mantra of the three the same.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
Haunted whispers fill car.

Sister left behind;
cleans the knife, the blood,
the remains of a waking nightmare.
She rocks back and forth
fearing news of
a ringing phone.

Third child sleeps soundly,
forever haunted.
She slept through the nightmare.
How dare her world disappear
while she slept?
Feet away her family dying,
she slept! 
She must be bad.

Parents stare at the stranger
they call daughter,
relieved at each breath
angered at life.
Never to rest again,
never to trust,
never to quit blaming.

Girl watches IV drip
confused by what happened,
listening for voices.
Neither relieved nor sorry
she still breathes.

Family will go on.
  Go on fearing
    Go on stumbling
      Go on mourning
        The family they were.

  The voices won.