Life is unpredictable and you never know what’s coming next. Don’t ever get too comfortable. Always be ready for change—Tania Tarat
Malinda Niewenkirk
And change she surely wasn’t ready for. For this the narrative. A narrative painted tragedy. A tragedy, difficult to reconcile. A tragedy which projected a 19yr onto our consciousness. An image tall. Poised. Beautiful. With the world at her feet. The world her oyster.
Then her circumstances changed. But unready was she. Unready for the end of that labelled love. Love that delivered both paradise and pain. But it was the pain which excruciate. And being excruciated, she sought relief. However, the relief couldn’t cure what’s emotional. For what’s emotional needed a caring hug. A caring word. Reassurance. It’s going to be alright
But she was on her own. Left alone with her pains. So that which excruciated, magnified. Magnified, in her last moments. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone, apart from a bedsheet. And a door. So both she embraced. Eyes of tears. Eyes of pain. Eyes blinded to hope. Thus, she ended it. The bedsheet her noose. The door. The chair. Her gallows. Gallows and noose that brought death to
her pain. But life to ours.
And with her death came theories. CCTV evidenced him leaving the death house. He sought the police rather than attend to her. She ended the relationship, therefore was never in pain. More of relief. He’s married. An adulterous murderer. Fertile ground set by a social media influencer. Asylum Seeker? Likely, Attention Seeker. But we ran with it, not dissimilar to a relay baton. But this baton was hers. Propaganda. Lies. Disinformation. Rumours. Where’s the cyber law when we need it?
Then the postmortem result. Death by hanging. For that’s what the rationals thought, having studied the image. The image that shouldn’t have been. A door towering over her. A chair that provided a drop. A doorknob the bedsheet fixation point. But that the Social Media Idiot was blinded to. For she argued.
The science is silly. Singh isn’t science. Science knows not Singh. Dr. Nehaul Singh that is. But that doctor taught us pathology. That doctor is credible. That doctor would’ve seen millions of hangings. Millions of postmortems. Hyperbole. Fact nonetheless.
Nevertheless, we question—How could they with no medical training, rubbish the pathology of he, who is a specialist? Yes, opinions we are entitled. Opinions we can embrace. But what’s irrational, is the elevation of opinions over facts. For in the hierarchy of reasoning, fact supersedes opinion. Thus, the science I embrace. Embraced over instincts. Embraced over rumours. Embraced over opinions.
Notwithstanding, the good doctor informed the postmortem findings were consistent with hanging. Yet they were with question—What informed his
conclusion? Circumferential neck ligature marks. Fractured hyoid bone. Fractured cervical spine. Retinal haemorrhage. Conjunctival haemorrhage. Skin haemorrhage. Skin bruising. Skin scratch marks. All or more pathognomonic.
Mark’s Take
Thus, this I will emphatically state, someone can most certainly hang themselves on a door. For all that’s needed is, one end of the bedsheet fixed to the door knob, with the other end thrown over the door to form a noose. Then with a chair to create a drop, hanging is achieved. Convinced? Now let her sleep in Peace. Now abort the rumours. Now abort the silly theories. Now abort the disinformation. Now abort those, for she was never even pregnant.
But the concerns about this unfortunate case are many. For it would appear that we have lost respect for the dead. Gone are the days when death was looked at through sacred lenses. Now death, her death, is being objectified. Evidenced with that hanging image which assaulted our eyes. Where is our humanity? What about her loved ones? Why can’t we care?
Moreover, what irresponsible creatures have we become. For it would appear that our daily existence is tethered to social media likes. Likes over life oxygen. Which means, if it takes naked rumours being circulated, then so shall it be. For so dehumanised we have become, that we have failed to recognise the impact of our actions. Now we have a man destroyed by rumour mongers. Rumour mongers of phantom CCTV evidence, capturing him leaving the death house. Rumourmongers of uncorroborated text messages. Rumourmongers of messages erased from phone.
Thus, my heart aches. My eyes well. My thoughts vacuous. For this beautiful lady is now dead. For this man’s life is destroyed. Why? Let’s end this. Let’s stop this. Let’s care. Actions have consequences. Mental illness is real.
