Chapter 94:

XCIV | Yellow

The Rowan Tree


I don't remember
who calls the police or the ambulance

but they come
after I've been
on my knees,

hands soaked
in his blood
for a while.

Sirens cry,

blue and red lights,
white sheets,
a beeping machine,
gloved hands,
manicured voices.

I'm led down
a pastel yellow hallway
that smells like

sanitiser

but no matter
how they wash,

I can still taste
metallic blood
in my mouth,

I can still smell it
on my hands.

I want to stay
next to Ming

but they don't let me.

Before they
push me
out of the way,

I see the horizontal green line
and the zeros

then a beige door
in front of my nose.

The blanket
they put
over my shoulders

falls

and I don't
pick it back up.

I just replay

Ming falling
twenty-four storeys
from our HDB flat,

cracking
like a raw egg

over and over.

My mind
is a broken recorder.

There is no sound.
There was no warning.

I tell the officers
who questioned me.

I show them

the tissue parachutes
crushed in my hands,

the tissue paper
soaked with blood.

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