Part 1.
"To bear my soul is the equivalent of declaring my sins."
Lazlo Zermanski
On March 7, 2010, a baby boy is born. He is quiet and calm coming into this world. His mother smiles a sallow smile, clutching him to her breast. The father leans over them in protection, tears spilling down the crevices of his eyes. This overwhelming emotion of wonder and devotion clouding the room.
January 12, 2013, the baby boy is three years old. A baby girl is born. Three days have gone, her parents and older brother leaving the hospital. They prop the portable car seat beside their legs while waiting for the car.
The little boy holds his mommy's hand walking up the hospital steps. He sees the baby girl and lets go of his mother. The baby girl's eyes are wide open, not blinking nor unfocused upon him and her surroundings.
He speaks in his foreign tongue to her, Czechoslovakian; and the boy's parents are somber, but he is not. Mature for his age, he whispers of beauty. "Little baby," he says, "close your eyes. When you are older, you will know how pretty it is outside," the little boy crouches down to speak more intimately to her. "but you are too young. Wait a little longer and it will be even better." His words were a blessing.
His mother calls, "Lazlo," and tugs him away to speak to the doctors. Their little boy is sick, they say. He is terminally ill, they say. He will not last, they say. He is not strong, they say. He is going to die, they say. He will see no more of the beautiful world he spoke of, they say.
In the abyss I sink, an endless ugly spiral. Deeper I drown. My breath suspended of bittersweet polluted breath. My heart burning wretched fire, pounding against it's cage. I stare at that abyss with a domesticated gaze. If I had not understood, if I had not seen the suffering within, my defeat would not have been welcomed. His fingers dig into the skin of my throat with the intention of ending my life. I lose my sight, my vision darkening to a murky black in the edges. This green abyss was fading away. Flickering in my vision, black spots seeping in. No! Don't go! I want to look again, to memorize this sorrowful wickedness that by his mere presence surrendered me faithful. Only because this abyss, that was endless and forever, held my reflection. I saw myself in him. I saw the ambivalence in them. And I accepted it. I accept my death with his brutal embrace.