“Clang” by Kirsten Stillman
Clang.
I wince every time the hammer hits the nail.
Clang.
It’s not like I’ve never heard the sound of metal hitting metal as the hammer drives a nail into wood. I’ve lived most of my life with a carpenter for a husband. It’s a common sound, one I’m used to.
Clang.
And it’s not like I hadn’t known something would happen. My son had been telling all who would listen that this day would come.
Clang.
I just hadn’t expected it to be like this.
Clang.
I lift my tear-streaked face towards the heavens. Why? Oh, WHY!? I shout silently at the heavens. Why would you put this on one man? He is Blameless!!
Clang.
There are other women here beside me, all around me, weeping as I am. We weep loudly, grieving. They suffer with only their hearts. The only pain that courses through them with each resonating sound of metal on metal, they only weep with what their hearts and heads tell them is grief. I know not how much each one’s heart suffers. The only thing that matters is the sincerity of their tears.
Clang.
I suffer with my whole heart and more, my whole being cries out in pain as the nail is driven deeper into the wood. I feel as if that very nail is being driven straight through my heart, leaving its mark not only on that one small part of me, but on my whole body. Breaking me. Shattering me.
Clang.
I cannot take it much longer, this pain that makes my whole body tremble. The women are holding me back, I know they feel my trembling. I do not care.
I know that they are trying to protect me from the very men who are so heartlessly breaking everything in me.
Clang.
I crumple to the ground, unable to bear the blinding pain and all-consuming grief. My sobs shake my body. It is time.
Clang.