Ticktock

Time is of essence.

She told me to buy tomatoes, so I went. While I was walking I saw this dirty kitten near the veggie stall. I pitied the kitten but I know I couldn’t do anything about it. So I simply ignored the little thing.

After paying for the stuff I bought, I turned around and saw the kitten trying to cross the street as a car, a blue van I think, approached, then just like in the movies everything moved in slow motion, I saw the kitten’s tail, I contemplated if I could pull it back to safety without butchering it (just in case the van already had it under its wheels), I could still remember how scared I was as I saw the van approaching fast and I knew I don’t have the time (or maybe just scared to take advantage of time), I could only hope the kitten would move fast enough such that it could avoid the monster wheels, or that I could stop the time, even just for a few seconds.

The poor thing died. Right in front of my eyes. I saw the monster wheels run over the kitten’s neck. Saw how the kitten’s neck was opened a little. Saw it writhe. Saw some of its guts sprouting. Saw the van continue its journey, as if it hadn’t felt the small bump it crossed. And killed.

And all I could do was to shout (not even a loud one).

Then I walked away.

I walked away but I could still picture the writhing, dying figure of the kitten. I could almost hear its plea for me to help it or to just give it a proper burial. And I could almost feel the icy glare someone might be giving me. I’m such a hypocrite.

Crying but leaving.

Such a hypocrite.

And now I have the nerve to write about it. As if I was the victim. As if I was the poor one who was so unlucky to see such kind of death. As if I didn’t deserve to see it and to shake in misery. As if that kitten’s death happened to be only a topic I have to write about. But see, I have no choice.

I have to write about it. I have to spend this few minutes, just this few minutes, to write about it. I have to do this in honor of that kitten. For that kitten I failed to save, I failed to help. What choice do I have? This place I live in is a bustling place. No place for me to bring that kitten, no place for me to bury that kitten. Am I trying to convince myself that I left that kitten in better hands, in Mother Nature’s hands? Moreover, even if I was able to save that kitten, I still wouldn’t be able to protect it, I still have to leave it prowling the streets alone, and maybe leave it, only to suffer more. Still, I know that all of these are my lame excuses. My excuses to lessen the guilt I am feeling now. To ease the burden.

The burden I deserve to feel.

I wish I could turn back the time. I wish I could stop the time. But I couldn’t and what happened already happened. I could only regret.

Time will come that I will forget the incident about the kitten I failed to save. Still for now, I want to write about it. To help me cope with it. To help me think that in some way I succeeded in saving that kitten, even just in memory. And to help me remember.

To help me remember that there came a time in my life that I failed to make good use of the little time Fate has given me.

How I failed to use the few ticktocks of the clock, time made me see and feel.