The Twilight Zone

I follow the trail of blood drops, like he followed bread crumbs in that fairy tale.  I know I can't save anyone.  Nor can I solve any crime.  I'm too shy for any of that.

But I need to know, like the cat that got itself killed.

It is getting late.  Dark.
But I know I'm getting close. The droplets here haven't even dried yet.
Yes.  I'm close.

I'll just have a look,  and rush back home. Just in time for the soccer match.


I turn a curve, and see her walking ahead, blood dripping at every little step. She holds her dress up her thighs, and has a wide stepped gait. Blood seemed to seep from within, high up her thighs somewhere.

Just another rape then. I feel my curiosity fading.

I almost stop my pursuit and turn around,  but then I see something hanging between her legs.
I can't go back now. I have to know.

It's true what they say.  The curious cat does have nine lives.

I quicken my pace.  I have her at an arms distance now, walking, that red white rope between her legs. She doesn't know I'm here.  Neither does she seem to care. She walks ahead, dress held up,  and head held high.

I walk in front of her, and have a look at her paper pale face. I ask that woman what happened.  She gives me a wry smile,  and walks past me.

Curious ever more,  I run behind her, and hold her by her frail arm.

Her eyes meet mine, and like lightning struck, I realise what happened.

In her eye,  I see her malnourished childhood, helpless adolescence, and a spoilt youth. I see multiple faces,  endless nights, crumbled notes, and a missed period.  I see her pregnant past,  and I see her smile on seeing her baby.


'It was a girl', she tells me.  Smiling, her eyes wet.
'But I didn't let her be me.  No, I did not. ' she lets out a hollow laugh.

I feel my grip loosening, her arm slipping from mine. With that smile of hers on her face, walks past me, she does.


I start walking back home. The soccer match.
But that doesn't stop me from turning back to get a last look.

She waddled her way into the setting sun, dress held up, head held high.
Blood kept on dripping from the umbilical cord that still seemed  to cling to her womb with some fervent,  unreal hope.

The red she spilt glistened in the evening sheen.
It wasn't clotting anymore.