I could see Sandra in the doorway. It was dark, so I guess it was only her silhouette. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could feel them burning to me, through me, beyond into something I couldn’t fathom.
I asked her what was wrong. There was a pause, the kind that people take when you don’t understand them, that time for thought, to churning the feeling into words…
“I’m empty,” she finally said still trying to find the words, “Hollow. I feel hollow inside.” All I can here is the wind blow right through me and I can’t even feel the cold. There’s just nothing.”
I went to move. But she spoke again and I instinctly froze, not knowing what would happen next.
“I’m tired. Of being empty.” Her voiced seemed purposeful, “And hollow. And numb. I want to fell again”
She raised something, held in between her finger and thumb that glinted like ice. It was a razorblade.
Her tears mixed with the blood that had been splattered across. They didn’t clean her up for the cameras, it would only lose its effect. You could see a microphone pressed practically into her face.
“He screamed out to me, that it wasn’t over,” she sobbed, as the ambulance drivers tried to treat her, pushing the cameraman out of the way, “He said – he said that his heart still belonged to me and…and that he wanted me to have it.”
“That’s when he got out the knife.”
The Emergency Dispatch is flooded with calls. Floyd sits there cradling his head in his hands, as the emergency lines ring out. There are no more ambulances to send, all of them are busy trying to rescue failed lovers from certain doom.
Something barks over the radio, It’s the driver of SW0100, he reporting that he’s just run over a young couple, who just dived straight in front of his wagon. The problem is that he can’t stop, because he already is carrying another couple that had set themselves on fire…
For those who are spending Valentines Day alone this year, just think – at least your not part of some bizarre memetic massacre of failed relationships