Standing there, there was nothing in my heart. Nothingness is quite possibly hugely worse than sadness, despair, pain, all of the things that I should have been feeling. I just stood there, my eyes wide, my entire body shaking, feeling nothing.
The air was cold against my damp skin, that was why I was shivering, it wasn't because of a violent attack of emotion.
There was nobody else.
Why on earth was I still here, standing, chin held high against the cold, instead of some emotions that should have been hitting my blood stream right about now, unmoving, unhurt? I was the least worthy of this survival.
The snow that had fallen a few days earlier lay in little half melted puddles along the floor, some still clung to the skeletal trees above me. The trees with their half frozen, dead looking branches, cast long thin shadows over me and the deserted land.
Somewhere far away the sound of sirens was disturbing the silence of mourning, too late. They were all gone and nobody gave a sh**t whether I survived or not. I wasn't even supposed to off been there, I was filling in, as the entertainment. The one they all hated, the one they weren't even attempting to grin and bare.
The air felt sharp and unkind on my skin.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wanted to cry, to mourn, to despair. There was, somehwere in my tear ducts little pearls of salt water waiting to trickle down my pale, wind bitten cheeks, but I held them back.
The fire of my allowness was far more powerful that the ice of their loss.
I wouldn't miss a single one of them.
That makes me evil, right?
I would forever regret and be haunted by what happened by the frozen lake that day, but I would never regret them. It would always feel better in a sick way, that I didn't meen to allow into my head, to remember them pale, quiet, voiceless than the loud, colourful, biteing, bitching bastards they'd all been.
It will always be wrong, I know that, but I can't stop it.
And as I stood there, my Converse layered one on top of the other as though to generate some heat, I new that I was evil, for all it wasn't my fault, for all I was an innocent bystander, I was evil.
That small splintering thought broke me.
I was never the same, I never will be.
Yet I still can't miss them. I can't even explain, what happened or how I feel and I know they all secretly think that I did it, that it was my fault, yet, I can't find the energy, nor the emtion to tell them otherwise.
As the police cars and the ambulances arrived, six ambulances all in a row, none would be returning to the hospital happy, I thought to myself, perhaps I should cry, make myself look a little more sane, but I new, whichever way you looked at it, me, the one survivor, would never have to look completely sane again.
How bad is it that, that was actually a relief?
No more pretending, I had a good enough reason to crack up.