Waste Not Want Not

Despite being more than a little attached to my mind, my mind tends to find bloody imagery more interesting than other things at the moment.

Well, bloody imagery and handball, since it’s the only national team that gives us reason to be proud. So we kicked the Irani team’s collective ass and breezed through to Thursday’s finals. Some moments in today’s game our players truly were poetry in motion, and the Qatari commentator whole-heartedly agreed judging by his flowery sometimes hilarious metaphors. Go Blues. We may get something glittery *and* gold methinks.

Anyway, back to the wet works. A continuation of last post’s piece.

Blood. Lots of it slicking my hands as I tried in vain to staunch the flow. Had the bullet hit his thigh just inches to either direction Ari would still be alive. Instead his femoral was ruptured and he gasped out his last breaths in front of me, his hands and mine covered in his blood. So much blood, its smell so strong that I could taste it. Coppery tang and I kept gagging, but I couldn’t throw up until they came and took him away. Only then could I let my stomache rebel and the pavement was baptized with both our insides.

That was the first time I saw a gun up close. But the killing urge didn’t come then. Even after Ari’s death I still saw academia as a warm protective cocoon that would protect me from the harshness of the outside world. It was months before she revealed herself to be a fickle mistress who would lead you to your death as soon as warm your bed. I was naive enough to believe that we were victims of a random mugging, and it never crossed my mind that it was Ari’s research that put an end to my best friend’s life. Metzger may not have carried the bullet but a few whispers into the right ears and I watched the only family I had bleed out on a sidewalk. It was seven months and four days ago that I found out.

I finally get why he was so sympathetic, so understanding. At the time I was pathetically grateful for his presence. Right now I’m just glad that all I’d sobbed to him about was worthless sentimental crap about growing up in Ari’s shadow. I wonder how soon I would have joined Ari in the nether world if Metzger had gotten what he needed out of me. Now if only I’d get what he needed out of me, I’d know where to go from here.

Unfortunately, Ari and I hardly ever talked about work when we got together, which means I’m going to have to go through everything. This scares the shit out of me. Ari was brilliant, and not in my wildest dreams could I hope to come close. I only hope I can piece together what it was that got him killed before I end up in the ground alongside of him.