Bleeding Out
March 2022.
Written by: Haya A. Elmizwghi
Edited by: Fatima M. Mami
Reviewed by: Rehab Elgadi
Published by: Fasila
One knock.
Two knocks.
Three knocks.
No response.
“May I come in, dear?”
Without waiting, she cracks open the door, slicing the dark room with a blade of yellow. A boy lying on the floor would pass for dead had his darting eyes not betrayed him.
Approaching slowly, like a scared animal, she takes a seat on the floor right next to him. Their hands graze briefly, and in that moment, she shudders from the iciness of his.
“How are you feeling, honey?”
“I’m bleeding out, Mom.”
She bursts out, “So dramatic! Your generation always has a way of turning a stubbed toe into depression. You’re fine, just a little down in the dumps is all. Tomorrow you’re going to wake up, and it’s going to be a new day. You won’t even remember what made you sad in the first place! Right, champ?”
After a moment of silence, he finally answers, “No, I will remember it all!”
“That’s not right! Be positive, and positive things will come to you. This is merely an obstacle on the road, nothing to fret over. Come on, get up, and get over it, like the man you are,” she argues.
“Feeling better, mate?” She asks.
A gulp, and with shaky hands he answers, “No, not a bit.”
“Oh, come on! How long will it take to get you out of this mood? A day? A week? A month? You’ve got to move on at some point, so why put off the inevitable? It pains me to see you in this state. Remember, I love you, son.”
Silence takes over the room.
“Son?”
His hands thud on the floor, grazing hers once again. She moves to clutch them but something feels odd. She feels—wetness.
She lifts her hands to the light, only to find them stained in red. A depthless shriek tears through her lungs and up her throat as she holds the now-lifeless body of her child in her embrace.
“You really were bleeding out,” she mumbles in complete shock.