Iris

30 | quietude

     AS I STARED at my blurred reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but wonder whether death was a cruel or merciful component of the cycle of life.

A minuscule voice at the back of my mind told me it was a combination of both. Death was a cold-hearted yet compassionate companion of ours. In one way or another, it was darkness' relative. It was a criminal and a healer at the same time.

Death was gentle to those in pain. It was loving and caring when it came to them. Its hands were tender once they wrapped around the battered souls and carried them far away, giving them a world of ethereal serenity and eternal quietude.

But sometimes, death was nothing like that. It wasn't sweet. It was brutal and violent. It tore the souls of those it came to take, ripping their breaths out of their lungs with no former warning. It stood in the distance, feeding off the pain of the survivors. Its shadow remained hidden on the sidelines, lingering as its traces started to wrap around the living, tugging at their souls yet leaving their breaths.

I often wondered whether death was gentle or cruel to my parents. Had its arms wrapped around their bodies as its hands engulfed their hearts and put an end to their beats? Or had it harshly squeezed their organs as its nails dug into their hearts, forcing them to bleed until they halted? I knew my parents had been shot dead, but had they instantly died? Or had they felt the bullet as it struck their skin and separated its edges before it left a trail of scorching flames upon the route it had followed?

The questions were driving me to the edge of breaking. They had kept me up all night yesterday as I had tossed and turned in bed for hours. They had crept into my sleep and haunted my dreams the moment my eyes had fluttered shut. Those suffocating questions had clung to one another before they had divided. One half had lodged itself in my throat, and the other half had found its habitat deep within my chest.

Glancing away from my reflection failed to turn off the ignition of my thoughts. It failed to drain their fuel and put an end to their darkening trail.

The corners of my eyes were heavy with burning tears. They were filled with heartbreak for the people I failed to remember. They were also filled with yearning for the people every single part of mine craved to meet.

When my eyes met their reflection, I sighed. A shaky hand of mine brushed my hair before I tied its strands in a low yet loose ponytail. A dark sweater hung over my shoulders, its long sleeves concealing the entirety of my hands from sight. I'd taken it from Elliott's room sometime yesterday.

"Hi," I murmured to myself, my gaze blurring. "I'm Iris." My trembling intake of Oxygen did nothing to ease the rapid movement of my chest. It did nothing to calm my racing heart. Would they even hear me?