Simon
Simon died last night. No-one knows when; he went quietly, in his sleep. I don’t know if it was his injuries or the infection; probably both. He never got the help he needed, and now he’s dead.
We gathered around him this morning. No-one said anything; we had a moment of silence almost by accident.
Then there was breakfast to sort out and water to portion out. Food and water, water and food; it always comes back to them. I had to shoo a couple of the others away from there before they would do something useful. Something else.
The worst thing is that it was a relief. Simon’s suffering is over now. We don’t have to soothe him, or try to get water in between his burnt lips. I don’t have to wonder any more if all of these delays will kill him. If I’m going to kill him by doing the wrong thing.
No wondering any more; he’s gone and I failed to get him to the hospital in time. I don’t know what else I could have done to save him – I keep trying to work it out, but I can’t think of anything else I should have done. There must have been something. Maybe I’m not smart enough, or experienced enough. I shouldn’t be in charge here. How did I end up in charge?
It’s an awful feeling, the guilt of being glad that someone is dead. It settles in my stomach like warm poison, like rancid alcohol. I didn’t know I could ever feel that way about someone. I keep telling myself that the relief is for his sake, for his peace, but I think that’s a lie. I think I’m glad he’s gone, because it’s simpler and easier for us that way.
I think I’m a terrible person. I don’t want to think about someone’s life like that. Is it just the situation that is making me like this, or was I always this callous? Always this selfish? What the hell am I doing?
Tags: Simon
- Category: 03. Aftermath,Uncategorized
