My tears came like my words; escaping me in unfeeling, steady, meter. My counterpart on the other end of the phone was doing worse. Her retching came in heaves, islands of solid sound among a mangle of shrieking wails and heart-shaking groans.
But I had to keep going. I felt like one of Pol Pot's executioners, grimly working my way through a family of "new people." I'd already been through the the jealousy, the resentment, the anger. But now I found no pleasure in my retribution. "Numb yourself. Keep human feeling at bay. Just until it's over. Each shrieking plea, each fresh flicker of hope, extinguish. Don't be cruel. Don't prolong their pain. Don't prolong yours."
"Please, just let it be over."
Until finally, on delivering the final bullet, the sound that was crushing my skull suddenly stops. Line - dead. And I'm left - still feeling nothing - acutely aware of my surroundings. I stand alone in a crater where a city once stood. Silence surrounds me, somehow audible in the highest definition, but for a mute wind, gently buffeting the debris.
There's a new sensitivity to my senses. Registering the slightest movement and feeling every nuzzle of wind. If someone would call, I'd respond immediately. Yet for the last twenty minutes I've sat like a ragdoll - limp and completely still, my gaze not moving even a tenth of an inch.
Ever so slowly, I start to form simple thoughts. I want to go outside, and dumbly shuffle, foot-by-foot, towards the exit. An apprehension of returning feeling builds. Nausea builds as the taste of bile announces itself in the back of my throat. And then, all of a sudden, stood alone on a warm night beneath a palm tree, I implode like a condemned building.
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