AN: Well, after two hours of trying to write a character analysis for the short story "A Cup of Tea" (anyone whose read this story can probably relate) I was feeling very frustrated and a little dark. This is what came of it. Review if you have something to say about it- good or bad. (I love reviews =) )



Reflections

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CD cried silently, the kind of crying that comes from so deep inside, so immense a pain that your heart dies a little with each tear.

It had not been a good day.

When the call came at 4:00 that morning, CD had showered, dressed, and centered herself to face whatever the sun had decided to shed light on. She met Tom at the crime scene, drew together her professional veneer and ducked under the tape to get a closer look at the body. What followed had been a nightmare. The man who had been killed was the stepfather of two young girls, only 10 and 12 years old. They were sitting stone faced next to their sobbing mother when the body was rolled past them out the door. CD had barely opened her mouth when the older one said she had killed him. He had been abusing her for years and when she found him starting with her little sister she stole his gun from under their mother's bed and shot him. CD had no choice but to place the girl under arrest. She was so preoccupied with that that she didn't notice the mother's sudden silence. She should have seen it coming. She no sooner had the girl out the door when the gunshot went off. Apparently the mother had a history of suicide attempts, as well as depression. After being faced with the fact that the man she had brought into her home had raped her daughters, the gun on the hip of the officer to her right seemed like the perfect way out. It was such a surprise attack that no one had a chance to move before it was over. So now CD had two orphaned girls, both the victims of sexual abuse, one being charged with first degree murder, the other who was just that morning covered in her mothers blood after watching her blow her head off. And there wasn't a whole hell of a lot she could do.

Sometimes she just felt so damn helpless.

So it was the over all events of the day, combined with the memories that every rape case, especially those involving children, seem to bring up, that found her curled up in her blanket, staring out into the nothingness pressing itself against her window. And she was all alone.

She had stopped going to therapy after she and Paul broke up. She saw no point in it anymore. She had worked through it to save her marriage, and now there was nothing left to save. No one to tell, now that she had the courage to say it out loud.

Such is life.

So, instead she cried. It was the only thing that she could do. She cried for the two girls, she cried for their mother, she cried for all the pain, suffering, and injustice in the world. She cried for her helplessness, her seeming ineffectiveness as a contribution to the world, she cried for her loneliness, her aloneness, and she cried for herself.

She cried until there was nothing left inside.

And then she slept.