As the golden sun light streams in through my window, I sit and watch dust motes as they float around, making patterns in the air which I wish I could understand. Occasionally I turn to my lap top and write- and check my facebook, and my gmail - but then its back to the dust motes and me. There is a suffocating stillness to this afternoon, a deafening silence which nothing could pierce. I regret having put Zoran to bed for his nap.
There was a little girl I knew. Years ago. She had the saddest eyes you'd ever see. I met her again today and she asked me, "How do I grieve for the man who killed me?" I knew this man too. He had the coldest blue eyes you'd ever see, with hair the colour of barley. They say he inflicted excruciating pain on her, mangled and mutilated her. Tormented her until - his daughter died.
They found him yesterday. Paralyzed. Unable to even lift a finger. They say he has lost his mind. Repeats his daughter's name over and over and over again.
As she sits there in front of me, ghost-like, I can't help but notice the tears trickling down her face.
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