I’ve been told that death is the ultimate destination we all share, and no one has ever escaped it. 

Death is oblivion, they said. It is peaceful. You should not try to escape from it because it is the end of a story written by destiny. 

 

But I escaped death. 

I left my wife to die, and I escaped triumphantly. 

I laughed, and I cried right in death’s face as I walked out the door—a torn, ragged remnant of unimaginable horrors. 

I am a survivor, or perhaps a coward; that’s left for you to decide.

 

***

I still remember that night as clear as the sky. I relive that night every day; a reminder of my mistakes, a reminder of my victory. 

It has been almost fifteen years and I can still hear her cheery voice echoing in my ears…

 

“You’ll take me with you tonight, right?” she asked with the sweetest voice I’d ever heard. 

“I’ll always take you with me, Cherry,” I replied and kissed her forehead. 

“Good, ’cause I’m always gonna keep you here,” Cherry said and pointed to her heart. “You’re my life now. You’ll be the death of me.” She ended her statement with a kiss and we both laughed. 

If only we had known how true those words were, I’m sure we’d have never stepped out that night to the dinner party my friend Simon invited us to. 

Or should I say slaughter party?

 

My name is Damon, and I was the only survivor of a horrific incident that claimed the lives of my wife and 53 other victims that night, exactly 15 years ago in Dallas, Texas.  

 

I remember when we got in the car Cherry had rushed back into the house, claiming to have forgotten something. After several minutes of waiting for her, I went to see what she was up to. 

I got into the room and there she was, in her luxurious black gown, skin fresh like a rose, legs parted—urging me to come in. 

Clumsily I declined, reminding her we were late, and we had all the time in the world for that later. 

Today, I cannot stop wishing I’d made love that night to my wife instead of going to the party. 

Cherry and I walked into the dining hall; It was enormous. The walls were tall, and the decor shone more brightly than the night stars did. 

Heavy interiors, beautiful displays, lavish dressings—the event was loaded. 

 

Right in front of us was a long table with a feast for dignitaries. 

Beside it was a dance floor and Cherry was already squealing; eager to dance her heels off. I loved her for this. She always brought out the romance in me. 

Expertly, I guided her to the dance floor. 

John Legend’s ‘Tonight’ blasted softly out the speakers and I drew her closer, chest to chest, arm in arm. We danced and kissed, feeling like the only people in the room. 

The music ended, but we kept going, our bodies leading the way, and our lips humming a tune until I felt a soft tap on my back; it was Simon. He softly whispered to us it was time to join the others at the table. 

 

We got to the table, found our seats, and quietly apologized for keeping everyone waiting. “I always lose track of time when he stares at me like that,” I remember my Cherry saying and landing a soft kiss on my cheek.

 

***

The first course of the meal was served, and light chatters went across the room. Dessert came afterward, and that was when Simon stood up to give a brief speech. 

“Thank you for coming. 

I must say, you all are looking exquisitely grand this evening,” he started with a raised glass. 

“Hear, hear,” the crowd murmured.

“Now, as most of you know, I have just been elected councilman, and this is my way of giving back to the esteemed community of friends and well-wishers who stood by me through all those trying times. 

Now I’m not a man known for long speeches, so I hope you enjoy your meal. Thank you once again,” Simon concluded and sat down. 

“Well, they better. It took a lot to get this together,” Simon’s wife murmured, and everyone chuckled. 

 

Unfortunately, fate had other plans that night. 

Almost immediately after Simon took his seat, groups of armed men walked into the hall; guns blazing. 

In just a twinkle of an eye, everything went to hell, literally. People took cover while others caught bullets. 

In the chaos, I looked around and saw Cherry some feet away from me. I tried to get to her; I swear I did. But bullets were flying everywhere, and I was too terrified to move. My legs were frozen to the spot where I hid.

We stared at each other with tears in our eyes. 

 

A few moments later, the shooting stopped, and we heard footsteps. No one dared look. How could we?? We were all whimpering and shivering. 

“Good evening gentlemen and ladies, I believe we haven’t been properly introduced,” the strange man said in a loud voice. “You can call me Mr. Grim,” he concluded with a menacing laugh, and then we heard the roar of a chainsaw come alive, bringing the chaos back to life. 

 

Mr. Grim strolled around, slicing people into bits. Bodies were dropping and glasses were shattering. I looked towards the dancefloor my wife and I had just rocked and it was covered in blood, thick red blood. 

The sound of unified gunshots brought me out of my thoughts and into reality. While Mr. Grim tore up people, his goons shot at the rest. 

At this moment, I knew I had to make it to my wife, so I got up and ran. 

 

I got to Cherry safely, but unfortunately, I got to her late. 

“Cherry,” I screamed in horror when I saw my girl. She had caught a bullet to the stomach and was bleeding profusely. “There’s… there’s so much blood,” I whimpered, as my hands trembled and tears steamed out my eyes.

“Run, my love, I believe you can make it out,” she said in pain. 

“I’m not leaving you. I’m taking you with me, remember?”  

“And I’m keeping you right here,” she replied, pointing to her heart while struggling to breathe. 

“Go, baby, you can’t save me this time. 

Go, I’ll cover you,” she said as she struggled to get up. I didn’t stop her. Everything was happening too fast. The next minute, she grabbed my hands and yanked me up, pushing me towards the door. I took the bait. She ran forward, towards the shooting and I ran the other way–towards the door, without looking back.  

 

This is my story. Am I a survivor or a coward? 

Although your answer makes no difference. My Cherry is gone!

 

          Written by:

       Typical Angel