by Kelly White
An act of violence distends through time and space, thinning the distance between them and me. I slip backwards and forwards to watch from darkened doorways, liminal spaces.
The first time I bore witness was accidental. I heard it, felt it, before I slipped through and saw – pulled back as time coagulated, trembling. So much blood.
I kneel next to his body, hold his hand. He squeezes mine, vice-like, silent questions in his pale eyes. His breathing is shallow.
I wish it was different, I say, and mean it. It never is.
I will remember you.
I remember them all.
Author bio: Kelly White writes horror. Her story, The Yellow Marble, was published by KnightWatch Press in the anthology Play Things and Past Times. You can find her on Twitter @KWhiteHorror.
Memorial is part of 101 Fiction issue 25.