Hallucinations (rewriting post-physical publication)

Chapter 20 - (Part 1) - Kathy's Funeral

It took place on February 25th, 2019.

Ten days after her death.

Ten days of grief, sorrow, and regret.

Ten clocks with giant, beating, hearts.

Counting down the seconds, minutes, and hours of the ten days.

Though I realize now, something about clocks. Not just the ten clocks, but about every clock in existence.

The sounds they make aren't really the sharp ticking and tocking of the tolling bells.

They are just banging bells.

Knocking against their wooden chamber of walls that enclose the arms on the face of the clock from the outside.

And it's like they are trying to communicate with me.

Telling me that the day is getting closer.

Closer.

Closer.

And closer.

Closer still.

Too close.

Until February 25th arrived.

At long last.

The day of her funeral. 

(Part 2) 

I've realized that funerals aren't for the dead.

They are for the living.

I know, I know, maybe I'm being selfish by saying that.

But she loved me.

And I loved her. 

And I promised her I would take her to Los Angeles when we get better.

I couldn't keep the promise. 

(Part 3) 

 People like me and Kathy are the loneliest people in the world. Or, she was. Now, it's just me, and my wilting dignity.

Her funeral is an hour away.

Guess where it's taking place.

The giant field of flowers we trampled through.

She always wanted to be buried. She wanted nothing to do with that cremating business. She was afraid it would be too expensive for her parents.

She once told me a story about a camping trip she and her parents went on, before she met Raymond.

It was her job to pack the family tent.

She forgot to pack it.

All they had to sleep in was their sleeping bags. Pillows, blankets, and they had to bundle on their extra clothes.

That was by far, the worst part of the trip.

But the best part of that trip, was something Kathy remembered.

She remembered falling asleep underneath a canopy of leaves. Looking up at the foliage, she sighed with contentment.

And tears were brought to her eyes when she recalled that story to me that one day in January. We were looking out the window of my hospital room at the falling, brown leaves that signaled Winter was officially here.

And, now- well, uhm, tears are brought to my own eyes as I remember sitting next to her, getting drowned in the memories of her story.

I- I'm sorry, it's just a lot to handle right now.