Monsters
The dreams occur every night now.
There’s Naomi, battered, bruised and crawling. The room is dark, all there is are the bloodstained floorboards, her tears and the ominous shadow cast over her, chain clenched. But one detail is different.
The shadow now has a face.
It is the same face that greeted her on their front porch. I have only come to assume that this brute is her husband. Poor Naomi.
They probably began as a typical happy teenage couple. I cannot be sure, but only imagine why Naomi doesn’t pull away from the chaos. Why else wouldn’t she? If their relationship began as something strong and intimate, it is perhaps what she still holds onto. Perhaps she is too blind to realise that it will never return to such a state and all her hope is wasted on a doomed companionship. Or maybe she’s one too many a victim of ‘I promise to be with you, no matter what.’
She is ’till death do us part’ in its most tragic form.
I barely know her, yet it pains me to think about her suffering. Nights are spent dreaming and mornings are spent wondering if she is alright. How long has this gone on for? Was it ever different? Will it ever be different?
Then last night, the dream was different.
The water washed up against Naomi’s bare feet as they dug into the sand. There was no bruise on her face, only the sunset. Her hair wasn’t frayed, her lips were full and her eyes bright. She wore the exact same dress that I first saw her in, flowing freely in the breeze – unscathed. Her footsteps led her into the water, the sun silhouetting her and setting the sand ablaze in a flurry of light. She was alone.
But she was smiling.
As I awoke, the image lingered with me. Its tragic non-existence haunted my morning ritual. But it was as I brushed my teeth that the thought dawned on me. The thoughts running through my head trod on dangerous ground. I looked up at my reflection, both faces caught in a petrified possibility. They both shared the idea, but stood in doubt of it.
They feared this idea.
What if she was alone? Would she suffer then?
Without him, she would truly be free. Without him, she would be free of her source of suffering.
I could free her of him.
I could end her suffering.
He would no longer bring pain and despair to the world.
I stared this madness in the face.
You’ve just taken one life and now you want to take one more? You’ve final become the monster you dreaded becoming.
No. This is different.
How?
This isn’t for my gain. This is about Naomi. This is about making her life better.
Isn’t it for your gain? Think about it. Her life may be the one that benefits directly, but yours does too. There will be no more dreams of Naomi and of blood and of chains. You’ll sleep soundly.
I won’t be the deluded coward to deny that.
Then how is it different?
You can’t compare the circumstances. Nora didn’t deserve to die.
And he does?
Yes, actually. Maybe he does.
Who are you? Are you God?
God doesn’t exist.
Then stop playing a fictional character. If he doesn’t exist, then absolutely nobody has the power to choose who should die.
I do. You know that.
You have the power. But you have no right to use it as you intend to. And doing so does not make you a God, it doesn’t make you a hero and it certainly doesn’t make you the compasionate soul you have so subtly boasted to be. You will be a monster. A scion of cruelty. Nothing more.
A monster? Monstrousity is mere voyeurism in the face of equal monstrousity. What greater cruelty is there in being able to end the suffering of another but lacking the will to do so in favour of a so called ‘morality’? Or at least the sick sensation of wrongfully calling yourself ‘moral’. I could do nothing. Naomi may live another year or maybe another ten. He could die tomorrow, die in a year or die in ten. But every day, she will suffer because of him. How is that morality?
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
But if she lives even one day longer than he does, that is one day of misery and abuse she will be spared. Now imagine if she could be given that for the rest of her life. I could live with that ‘damned if you do.’
So Nora’s death means nothing to you? How can you do this after all that happened?
Her death wasn’t without its meaning. I have not forgotten it. I will have to live with what I did to Nora. For what I did to her, I am a monster. A selfish monster.
And this will absolve you?
Nothing will.But I don’t want to live with ‘damned if you don’t.’
Till death do them part.
Forgive me.
- The naive, futile, sincere wish.
