Death is Only the Beginning: A Guide to Vampirism

Fifteen: The Death of a Friend

Life

is precious

A short span of joy and sorrow.

Death

is coming

Possibly today or maybe tomorrow

Grief

is overwhelming

Scream and rage and plead and cry

Memories

are precious

Keep them close as time goes by.

Healing

will come

One day in its own time

Hearts

Will heal

So too, I hope will mine.

"Save her! PLEASE!"

Tears stream down my face as I am given a sympathetic look. But those eyes hold no hope, just sadness and pity. But at least they take her from me. At least they're going to try.

Pete was the one who let me know something was wrong. Usually, when I get home from school, he is busy taking a nap in the laundry hamper. But tonight, he was yowling the way he does when I accidently lock him in the closet. It was a distressed cry. I had dropped my schoolbag and bolted to the bedroom. He was sitting by Hambalina's cage and making an awful noise. When I walked in, he began walking back and forth in front of it. Tears were already forming when I looked inside.

Her body was still.

Slowly I unlocked the cage and touched her cold, still body. I begged and pleaded and babbled as I sobbed and held her close to my heart.

Mom drove us to the all-night emergency clinic. She didn't once mention the fact that we'd be spending a couple of hundred dollars in vet bills on my seven dollar hamster. Every member of our family, no matter how small and furry, is cherished.

I kept her wrapped up in a hand towel and crooned to her like a baby as we broke every speed law between my house and the clinic. I burst through the doors and simultaneously burst into tears. That's when I begged them to save her life.

My knee bounces up and down nervously as we wait. Mom sits quietly beside me, patting my back gently every time I break down again. But we don't talk. I can't talk. My throat hurts and my stomach feels sick. Please be okay, Hammy.

We wait for over half an hour before the door opens. I jump to my feet. Please be okay. The look on the vet's face says it all. Hambalina didn't make it.

"I'm sorry," the vet says, "But if it is any consolation, she lived a very long life. Longer than any hamster I've ever seen."

It's no consolation. My pet, my dear little friend, is dead.

My vision blurs and my lip trembles as I carefully take her back from the vet's hands and let the rest of the words fade away. Her life was too short. I loved her too much, had her for too short a time. Already I miss seeing her little fingers wrap around a sunflower seed as she eats out of my hand. The way she would scramble up my shoulder and hide in my hair. She was so sweet, so adorable, and now she's.... gone.

We must have driven home, because somehow, I'm in the backyard. Dad starts digging and I mourn my little lost love. I don't remember the drive.

We silently bury Hambalina in the corner of our yard. I've had pets that have passed away before, but I was younger then and didn't question where, or even if, they were buried. I wonder briefly if our yard has become a cemetery. 

 As I kneel beside her tiny grave, I think about the fact that it won't be too long until Pete would be buried here as well. He's around ten years old now, and a cat's lifespan is what, around sixteen? If he's lucky. What is six years to an immortal? A blink of an eye? Will I live so long that I will forget him?

And what is the lifespan of a human being? My parents will grow old and die, and I will still be seventeen years old. Everyone I know and love will grow old and die. How many people that I've loved and will love will I have to bury in my lifetime?

Will I simply quit caring about people altogether? Will this ache, this hollowness I feel for my smallest pet grow with each person I lose?

"She was very old for a hamster," my mom says softly, "And she lived a good life."

"We can get you another one as soon as you like," my dad offers.

I mourn for my little Hammy. And I mourn for all the people I am going to lose in my lifetime. My parents... my friends... everyone.

 In the end... I will be alone.

The future seems so vast. 

So empty.