The list of sinners

...Celia...

Sometimes, in the quiet moments when I am alone with my thoughts, I cannot escape the feeling that time is running out on me. There's an urgency that grips my chest, much like the worries in my mind that have been troubling me lately. There's a fragility in the way my heart beats, as if it's whispering a secret that I'm not yet ready to hear.

But it's not just the physical symptoms that consume me. It's the emotional toll that has increased during my stay here. The fear that grips me when my heart beats irregularly, leaving me questioning if this is the moment when everything falls apart. It's a strange paradox, this feeling of conclusion.

It pushes me to seize every moment, to appreciate the beauty in the ordinary and find solace in the natural rhythm of life. Yet, it fills me with a deep sadness, knowing that the time I have left may not be as long as I once imagined. Life is so fragile that every heartbeat is a reminder that we are all mortal.

As the warmth of the summer sun poured down on the earth, June made its grand entrance, adorned with a vivid array of colors and scents. The air seemed to dance with the flowers adorning the yards of the surrounding houses, filling the street with an aromatic symphony. The trees, now dressed in green leaves, whispered secrets with the gentle breeze that caressed their branches.

Morning found me in the garden. I was clearing it of the weeds left behind by the rain. I volunteered to help Mr. Rodger, who had started coming out of the house less and less. I had visited him occasionally to prevent him from doing things he shouldn't, not forgetting the fear that gripped me, that I might find him lying, stretched out on the couch. After clearing the garden of weeds, I started planting some new flowers. The chirping of the birds served as a melodious chorus for the natural orchestra unfolding before me. June seemed like the month inviting me to embrace the promise of new beginnings.

"Good morning," the postman catches my attention as he approaches the gate and begins to pull something out of his bag.

I rise from my seated position and start dusting off my knees.

"Good morning to you too," I respond. "Anything for Mr. Rodger?"

"Let me see... no, this is for Celia Cardiff," he says.

"For me?!"

He hands me the cardboard box and wishes me a good day. I follow the postman with my eyes as he walks away to continue his delivery routine. I stand there for a moment with the box in my hands. Completely puzzled, I start pressing my fingers along the edges of the package, feeling its texture under my touch. With the box in hand, I enter the house. Changing out of my clothes tainted with dirt and pollen, I focus on the box addressed to me.

I remind myself that today is my birthday, and surprises were the norm. But there was no sender's name on the box, making the person behind it even more mysterious. I open it with a knife and glance inside. And there, before my eyes, is a frozen moment in time. There was a frame with legs holding a photo of me, Vicky, and Tian, taken a few months ago, when Tian was still alive.

I bring the photo close to my face, and a smile escapes me, accompanied by tears that flood the images of the photograph. I recognize Tian's portrait and realize how much I miss him. Even though I lost him a few months ago, his presence still lingers. And this was something not even death could erase.

"There's also a letter," I say, noticing a beautiful pink envelope at the bottom of the box.

I open the letter gently, and before I can read a single word, the handwriting, so familiar, sends shivers down my spine.

"A small gift for you to take home when you return. Place it on the nightstand next to your bed so you won't feel our absence. Happy birthday, Celia. From Tian."

That letter unleashed emotions I thought had been buried long ago, guiding me back to a time when his laughter echoed through the corridors of my life. I hang on to every word, desperate to maintain the fleeting connection this letter offers. I couldn't understand if what I had just read was true or if someone had found the time to play a trick on me. A lump formed in my throat. It seemed like something had lodged in my chest like a lump. I couldn't believe that he had written that letter. I couldn't find the right connections to accept such a fact.

I try to calm myself through deep breaths. Maybe I had read it wrong. He couldn't have written that and, above all, sent this box. I pick up the letter again and reread it. This made me reassure myself that I had read the black text on the white paper correctly.

I decided to put my hand on my chest, trying to normalize and maintain my calmness. Receiving this mail could have been inexplicable, but on the other hand, it filled me with false hope that Tiani was still alive. The only thing that came to mind was to run towards the post offices and ask how the truth stood.

"How can I help you?" the employee asked before whom I presented myself.

"This mail came to me today," I said. "It was sent by a friend of mine who has been dead for months. Does this seem normal to you?"

"Let me take a look," said the employee.

The girl, who could have been around twenty-five years old, started checking on her computer as the keyboard noises accompanied her in anticipation.

"This mail was ordered by Mr. Tian Johanas himself for this date," she said.

"Is that so?" I said.

I nodded.

"Alright, thank you."

I left the post office. My legs felt heavy. Everything around me seemed to be disturbed for a moment, disappointment filling the air like a cloud in a clear sky. The thought that Tian might still be alive tangled the threads of my heart, igniting a flicker of false hope. What if his death had been a mistake? What if there was a chance that Tian was still here, fighting his battles? My mind resembled a whirlpool of conflicting emotions.

Lost in thoughts and memories, I found myself at the garden gate of the house. I took a deep breath, trying to let go of all the worries and to compose myself in these final hours of my birthday. Upon entering the house, the idea of calling Vicky came to mind. I wanted to tell her everything that had happened and maybe that was the only way to get through this evening peacefully. However, my intention was interrupted by the voice of the secretary's answering machine, informing me that the person might have turned off their phone.