July 20. Eyes

Her eyes looked toward the building in front of them, but somehow through it. She was not speaking and her daughter did not insist upon it, preferring to remain in her own reverie. As she stared at the bricks and mortar, images flickered up as though in an old projector. Her Mum sitting at her formica table, hand touching her forehead, her eyes and mouth held closed. Her Dad running the length of the backyard, straw broom held high, shooing away the crows. Her daughter holding a cloth covered in blood. Her husband lying turned away from her. The images flowed through her, drawing waves of emotion that fell away before she could even feel them.