Where she Wandered

In the beginning, I wandered the boundary between two worlds.  They were very different: life was one thing; death was the other.  Black and white.  Every day I walked closer to death and its haunting beauty; until a single spark of light emitting from the other world caught my attention.  Mesmerised and slightly apprehensive, I moved towards it.

I lift my pen from the page and contemplate for several moments, reading it over and over, then scribble out what I've written and start over.  Images flow from my mind and onto the paper, requiring almost no thought to help them on their way.

At first, when the little girl reached the light, she noticed no drastic change – but the light was warm and comforting.  After a while and seemingly overnight, she was able to see the beauty in the world once more.  And she found that life and death are not just two opposites –they were totally different in some places but in other parts they overlapped and became one being.  She discovered colour once more,and discovered that life is not just "white" and death is not just "black".

Then she stopped searching for death.  She had found a reason to live, but she was not scared to die – if death came for her, she decided, she would gladly go with it.  But she would stop seeking it out.

Something falls off my desk, clattering to the floor with a crash.  I barely hear, and don't stop to investigate.  Hours pass.  I continue to write.

She began to notice the people-that-weren't-quite-there, just like she had been not too long ago, the people that didn't want to keep living any longer.  And she spoke to them.  She spoke to them and tried to help them the only way she knew how, with the power of her words and her own experiences – but she knew, without ever saying it, that although people can influence it, the decision of whether to take your life is your own.

I don't want to stop.  There's still so much to write, too many thoughts trying to escape from the cage that is my head.  But my entire body is cramped for sitting still for so long and screams in protest when I try to move.  Ink is smudged across the pages, making my writing almost undecipherable in some places.  Outside, the wind is howling creepily and rain patters gently against the open window. I'll finish it tomorrow; I need to sleep.

I force myself to stand up and stagger towards the window, stretching my aching fingers and wrist.  Turn off the light, and the room is encased gently in a blanket of shadow.

I dream of a large, hairy dog.  He pads over to the foot of my bed and watches me for several seconds before, silently, he leaps nimbly onto the bed and settles down beside me.  I tangle my hands in his soft, black coat, just as I do every night.

In my dream, I have a sudden urgency to finish my story: the story of my own dark journey and of how I was saved by that tiny glimmer of hope that made the world colourful once more.

I still continue to wander.  But never too far.

One day, though, I will.  One day I will travel farther than I ever have before.

One day.

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Author's Note:
This is a christmas present for my favourite person in the world. I hope you liked it, I'm not too sure about it as my writing's kind of rusty but I wanted to get you something. So here it is. Merry christmas, love.