St Patrick's Day 2011 11: 02pm
It was St. Patrick’s Day 2011, and all wasn’t
full of happy-go-lucky four-leaf clovers.
No, it wasn’t going to be a very cheerful day
after all.
She had been missing since New Year’s Eve.
That night of terror still rips apart my chest
when I remember the way my phone laid in
my hand not ringing.
I anticipated her phone call, yet deep inside
I knew I would never hear from her again.
I knew that day felt different.
Maybe it was the way the snow was finally
melting along the shore of the reverie that
rested outside my sill.
Maybe it was the changing of seasons that
March always brought that time of year.
I was invited out to go celebrate a day
full of green everything, but I just wasn’t
in the mood for fun anymore.
I had changed since she left and no one
understood why…except me.
So I did what I did best and laid on the bed
we used to laugh on.
I read old letters she wrote me and wrote
in a journal I had been keeping for the last
three months.
It was full of melancholic and sappy goodbyes,
remorseful regrets and yesterday’s sorrows.
Little did I know that night would be the night
that would change my life forever.
I heard the doorbell downstairs ring and my
heart raced.
It was like I already knew who it was and
what he wanted.
Too scared to move I just sat there listening
to the ring….ring…ring…
I looked at the clock on the old dresser and
saw it was 11:02 pm
For that would be the time I’d always
remember.
Each step downstairs I took slower than the
last knowing what I was about to hear.
I saw his silhouette on the front porch and
could see his apprehension.
As I opened the door all it took was one
look upon his face.
It was the detective.
The man who was in charge of searching
day after day and night after night for my
sister.
She was finally found lifeless under an old
Colorado Spruce Pine tree in front of a
fountain.
Time stopped, so did my beating heart.
For my life would never be the same again.
Sometimes when I look at the time and it
happens to be nine seventeen pm, I cry.
Chills run up my arms and through my veins
like that fountain she was lying under when
she took her final breath.
nineseventeenPM Contest
John Lawless
July 7, 2018
Copyright © Beautiful Scars | Year Posted 2018
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