Traffic Lights

Of all sixteen, number nine had a quality about her I find difficult to forget. The instinct to cling on to life is common, and something I witness amongst my chosen, but, number nine, almost from the beginning, showed an understanding of her future that was both prophetic and profound. The undignified thrash for life, the fear, the pleading, the sheer pain, was absent. In its place was a removed tacit comprehension of what lay ahead for her and me. Her eyes did not say stop doing this. Her eyes were alternately weary and bright, like a stop go traffic light for my process.

I left her on the top of a flat roofed building. Burying her would have done her a disservice.