A prompt a day keeps the block at bay

She knew me for a coward in many ways. My refusal to cross the street without first checking three times there were no cars. The way I liked to stay in my house and in my comfort zone, never venturing somewhere new, never greeting people who I do not know. The way I would jump at sudden noises.

She knew me as a coward. She knew me as a snake. I had betrayed her, given her up without a backwards glance. And it was not a surprise. My cowardice extended to any and all types of confrontations. I would not lie, even white lies, for fear of the truth being uncovered. I would not make promises because there was a chance I could not keep them. I was unloyal because to risk loyalty was to risk letting someone down. To accept loyalty was to risk betrayal.

I was a coward. I preferred to huddle in my home, hoarding my knowledge and resources, never letting anyone in. Never taking a single chance. And she knew this.

She should not have been surprised. She should not have been hurt. And yet she was. And so she pointed a gun at my chest, assuming I feared death.

I walked closer to the gun, letting the steel, hot from recent shots, burn me through my clothes. I did not make eye contact, for I feared what I would see in her eyes. But I knew she could see the acceptance in my face and I could hear her inhalation of shock.

She knew me for a coward. She thought this meant that I would fear death. She was wrong. I welcomed death. I welcomed the reprieve, the silence, the darkness, the rest.

Death is kind. In death you know what to expect. You do not risk hefty hospital bills from a car crash. You do not risk a slap to the face when you say the wrong thing. You did not risk tearing out your own heart and watching it bleed as someone you tried not to care about cried and begged for an explanation.