Suicidal Sleep

by Leslie Marie Banaban

The sky was black and the shadows beneath the walls were too as they kissed the humpy ground.

A speck of old taut cloth dirt and mud on the little girl's body speaks poverty on the sullen street. She could feel the cold breeze from the outside. Her bare hands were placed on the window bars while her foot skulked. A puff of cold air now and then exited her little lungs. She needs warmth, yet no passersby are coming. The cold air, sharp as crystal and ice raining in the city, did not bother her - this was nothing new.

Sighting. The little crow's feet rested near the skin of the little girl's eyes as she was searching for a man that is seven meters away from her.

That is her Papa from a long-haul, wiggling his brows and plastering a dulcet smile exclusively for her. She could not feel more heaven-sent with the affection that she only sees.

The little girl is longing for this moment, and yet this is it.

That was it.

Her Papa is guarded by two colossal Green Berets - one by his left and one by his right side. In her little age, she was uncertain from that moment.

In her mind, Green Berets are a friend of her home, and they have never been evil to her.

She then showed a smile on her eyes without hesitations. This is welcoming.

Little girl, after this, wants to play beneath the dark sky with her Papa as her sweet playmate.

Four meters away and she ultimately wants to feel the warmth of his embrace.

The shaky unchoreographed left hand untouched the bars and silently waved several times into the air. This is her, the little girl's, way to show she is ready to play again.

Papa saw the naked hand of his sweetheart, swaying in the breeze. The dulcet smile became noxious, all of a sudden his longing battling his existence.

It is not fair. Struggling to hum the "Mary Had a Little Lamb" in the muted city.

Hop, tip, hop, tip. Swayed large hands while walking. All of a sudden, the route changed and he has not headed towards his child anymore. The Berets, with arms resting on their chest, walked with him in a torpor-like state.

The fixation on the little girl's eyes changed. Where did her Papa go?

There he is entering a dark slam. His eyes finding their way to see his daughter before Armageddon -- and there, two eyes met peacefully, him with sad tears on his eyes, yet he still widened his smile.

The trick he usually does always offers joy to his little child and, once again, he does it while walking sideways. His movements and clown-like imitations bring laughter to his kid. He is now broken - this is not fair.

Too little time for flashpoint, her Papa made a struggle whistling something that sounded like firecrackers dancing along with the night.

His finger is touching his lip, sliding upwardly to the air. He recreates a massive gunshot pointing to heaven. The little girl laughs once more. They are alright.

Her Papa is good at burlesque but the Berets find it distasteful.

The hands that were free in the air slowly retreated, forming into a single sign language.

While walking to meet Fate, his finger formed an "I love you" sign for his little girl.

The kid saw what was happening before his Papa went to the dark slam with the Green Berets. Her innocence draws a reward of unfamiliarity for what is next.

The unemphatic night ringed her again. She is deaf and her Papa is mute. She only feels the vibration of the banged sound while the Green Berets left the slam. She knows that she can wait. Her Papa will do his thing again. And again, she will see this chapter over and over again.