Before I Forget

In My Time of Dying

The day turned into a night, and the night turned into a day, and Sky stayed with Kat. The tug in her gut, trying to pull her back towards life, back to her broken body, had turned into a dull ache that was always there, but only at the back of her mind, and Sky refused to give it any power.

They sat in the park. They walked around their old neighborhood, climbed onto the roof of the building where they had lived almost all their life, and watched how the sun went down, how the sky turned dark and the moon painted the landscape in shades of silver and black. The wind was cold, but Sky wasn't. She was warm, she was light, she was happy.

They talked about everything, except for death. They talked about boys, and about girls. They talked about school and capoeira tournaments, about vacations and trips to Italy, about family and friends - and about Marvel movies, Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Harry Potter. They talked about going to find more weed, but then didn't, but just laid on the roof side by side - and Sky had no idea what day it was, how many times they had watched the sun go down and up and down, and she didn't even care. Time had ceased to exist. She rolled closer to Kat, laid her head on Kat's shoulder, breathed in her familiar scent, and dreamt.

In the dream, she was in a hospital room. She stood by the door, and the room was white and sterile, and cold. It took a moment for Sky to recognize the girl who lay on the bed hooked on machines. It was her, of course, even if it didn't feel like it. She didn't feel the tubes that were going into her body or coming out of it, nor the bandage on her head, the cast on her left arm.

The girl on the bed looked small, her face was puffy and covered in bruises. She looked nothing like Sky felt.

Sky tilted her head and tried to understand. She was here, standing in the doorway, but she was also there, on the bed - but not really. That was just her body, an empty, broken shell. She had no need for it now. Without it, she was complete, she was happy, she was light and fast and she would live forever.

Still, something was pulling her towards that broken body on the bed, like there was an invisible cord connecting them. It was harder to resist here than it had been when she'd been with Kat, and she couldn't help but take a step closer to her body, then another.

No. I won't!

With a gasp, Sky stopped herself, glued her feet to the floor, and took a shaky breath. No, she wouldn't do it! She had nothing to go back to. It was too hard. Life was too hard. She didn't want to do it anymore.

But then a man stepped into the room, passed Sky in the doorway as if she wasn't even there, walked to the bed, and took a seat on a chair next to it. He laid a huge cup of coffee on the nightstand - the rich scent of oriental coffee and sugar filled Sky's senses, like an echo calling her home.

"Hi, sweetie," Dad said silently and took Sky's hand to give it a gentle squeeze. "I'm here."

Sky looked down at her fingers. She felt that squeeze in her ghost hand, felt the warmth of Dad's touch from across the room. She walked closer to the bed, not looking at that weird body on it - it still gave her the chills - but instead keeping her eyes on Dad's face. Letting out a slow, deep breath, she took a seat on a chair on the other side of the bed, next to a monitor that was keeping steady beeping noises.

"Hi Dad," she breathed. "What's up?"

Dad was still looking at the body on the bed, his tired, red-rimmed eyes never leaving Sky's wax-like face.

"I miss you. And I don't know if you can hear me, so talking to you feels kind of silly..."

"I can hear you." Sky replied. "Dad, I'm right here–!"