Ephemeris

24 : No Second Thoughts

March 26, 2030

Dear Luna,

This would be my last letter holding my last glimpse of the sky in awe. I am going somewhere—far away from home—to a place where pain never exists. I will cross the bridge and leave everything behind with no second thoughts. I am ready. And this is what I imagined that I would do tomorrow.

Early in the morning, I will put my suit on and climb over the roof. I will use the garden hose, which almost brought me to my end. I will tether myself with it and let my body fall into the sky, which is the proper place for sinners and lost souls like me. I will call upon fortitude to numb my dread of heights. It will answer me and invite me to look beyond.

As the first light floods my vision, my pupils will constrict, allowing the full magnificence to captivate me. My dull irises will glow like hot coals, fearing the cruel radiance and cowering of what lies ahead. I will greet the sun with a smile behind my mask, saying my final farewell. "Sublime," I would say.

I imagine the dawn would illuminate the wandering islands of old and modern cities displaying their enduring beauty—the works of man—our civilization's legacy. On my far right, I might see a floating city engulfed by raging blue fire turning into ashes. And when I survey to the left, a gliding mass of land collapses to rubble. On it, the towering glass and metal architectures topple, reducing to pieces. "Spectacular," I would whisper.

Below, our small cliff is there, and all that remains in our town is gilded with golden sunshine. Then, I will lower my gaze and notice my dangling legs are not trembling but feel too stiff. I know our house is so tiny up here, standing at the edge of the precipice. The old apartment building bracing itself on the side of our house is still there. It was a tomb for an old sweet acquaintance of mine named Abraham.

As I angle my chin skyward, my eyes perhaps would swell with tears, recalling a tiny friend I lifted to the cloudless skies, a small mouse named Potti. I will remember their smiling faces and lives filled with playfulness and stories. And, Luna, your remains will always be there where you were buried between the mahogany trees. All these deaths happened in the same place. I can do nothing to reverse it and revisit the past to prevent it from happening. "So sad," I would whimper.

The sun's glow will intensify, and I will feel the infernal flame coming from heaven. Now branded as the new hell.

I will dive and grab the plastic hose pulling myself back to the ground. Maybe, at first, I will hesitate to enter the house because of the woman locked in her gloomy room. I gave her my life when things went wrong for almost a year. I cared for her, pretending to be happy when I was sad and acting strong when I was weak. She is our mother. No. Your mother. She was my mother. She never loved me. Her love was closest to hopelessness. She loved you. That's what I am sure about. She took away my life in cold blood just a few hours before dusk. I was not her child, she said in my sobbing face. Your mother crushed my heart and my soul.

After that, I will push the main door with pleasure. As I heard the creaking door sound, I would remember Father sneaking in the middle of the night for coffee. He never noticed me standing by my door with my pajamas on. I thought he would hail me from the corridor to get inside and help him. But he never did. Was his smile genuine when our eyes met by chance in the hallway? Did he love me as his son? Did he love me out of pity? I was adopted. My birth parents gave up on me. I was a nameless baby that couldn't even talk at that time. I didn't know who I really was. I knew he was gentle, but I wished he didn't do such foolish, misplaced kindness. I preferred to be left crying in a crib, not chosen to belong to any family.

When you came into our lives, he was on cloud nine. He was breathless when Mom announced the surprise growing inside her womb. I was set aside. Occasionally, I concealed myself from their sight, feigning absence and getting lost, all in hopes that they would take notice of me. But he only cared about you, humming a song and sharing his dreams. It was the start of something—a feeling—that I was out of their sight and mind.

I knew I never had a chance to survive, but here's what I would do after I slipped this final letter inside my desk with the others.

I will caress the stairs' wooden railing as I ascend upstairs then the long corridor will greet me. I will push myself forward, pass several doors, and halt by my bedroom door. It will be open. Surely, my knapsack floats above the mattress. Quickly I will snatch it and strap it on my back, loaded with things—a hair barrette, a magnifying glass, a cube, and canned sardines. That's all, and the sardines will be enough to lessen the throbbing of my shriveled stomach.

"Goodbye, room," I would say, waving my hand as I closed the door. I will position my face forward, blank, and neutral. Then slowly, I slide along the corridor walls.

"Goodbye, attic." I will glare skyward, reminiscing the times I had fun behind the hatch.

"Bye, bathroom." My hand will pull the brown door close.

"Goodbye, study room." I will knock on the door three times.

"See you never, main bedroom," I would say, just facing the wooden door.

"Goodbye, stairs." My fingernails will scrape some varnish on them.

"Goodbye, kitchen." I will shut the lights off.

"Bye-bye, dining area." My fingers will leave some fingerprints on the glass table's surface.

"Goodbye, utility room." My voice will ricochet across the basement.

"Goodbye, living area," I would whisper, cursing the abstract painting. Then, I will swing the front door open and will lurch ahead.

"Goodbye, garden." I will extend my arms and perform a full twirl.

"Bye, garage. I didn't notice you were there." I will blink an eye. I will draw closer to the iron gate and yank the latch off.

"Goodbye, gates." I will push the two giant creaking metals with my spine. Without any hesitation, I will angle my chin toward the house.

"Goodbye, house," I will frankly say.

"So long. Thank you for letting me in." And I will never look back.

My destination is out there, beyond the bridge. As I recall, green trees and shrubs are found at the end of it. I will escape from this garbage place, a town of perdition, puffing out negativity. The bridge connects the gap, the chasm of death, from this decomposing town to the greenest meadow I have ever seen—the Garden of Eden.

"Do you have an ounce of conscience left in your chest for running away from her?" I would ask myself.

"I don't know, but I'm not afraid to begin and carry on my decision. My plan for my life," my instant answer.

There is inner cruelty disturbing my fixed mindset. Would I listen to my conscience, which talks to my heart never to leave the house, but suffering will continue? Or heed to the other voice that speaks to free me from burden and heartache but may spark troubles? I will wrestle the guilt within that has instigated a fight. And I will slap my face and sore my palm. "I will set my gaze forward, allowing my shadow to trail behind me," I would declare.

Where will I end up? To a quagmire or a haven? Or worse, to my doom. If I fail and encounter Death, I shall obediently not refuse to surrender my soul. At least I know I will be with you, Luna, in limbo. My body binds my soul. When it rots, it will free my holy ghost.

I can't wait to see you and to play with you. You and I will collect smiles, not tears. We will not dwell on the remnants of the hurtful past. It will be out of our history. We will write a new one, a blissful one full of love.

As I look ahead, my irises will limit the light from the fully risen yellow star entering my eyes. The glow will threaten the Umbrae, but I know they are waiting for the right time to devour the sun. Underneath my spot—a shadow—an Umbra—is undoubtedly feasting my shade, defiling the light with darkness.

Luna, I have decided to say farewell to everything inside and outside this house tomorrow at noon.

Goodbye.

Sincerely,

Daniel