Silent Whispers

Chapter one

PRESENT

I think of them, everyday, every minute, every single second of the day. I can't think about something else than them and if I manage to think about something else, my thoughts wander back to them. It hurts, it hurts so much. It hurts seeing them, it hurts to feel like they are here, that I can touch them, hug them, kiss their little sweet heads. But you know it's not real, you know that it's an illusion. Everything is an illusion, is this even real? I don't know. I just don't know. And it drives me nuts, maybe that is the main reason why I feel like I'm dying.

It is the worst feeling in the world, waiting while you know there is nothing you can do.

Most of the time I lay in the bed, what am I saying? The only thing I do is laying in bed. Observing and connecting the little dots on the ceiling. It gets boring after a while, but there is nothing else I can do. This helps me think of other things than them. Just for a few minutes, seconds, I don't know. I have no clue whether it's day or night. There is no clock in this room, my watch says it's 3pm, but it lies. It's defect.
I lie too. To myself, who else? There is no one here. I tell myself lies over and over again, I can't tell what's real and what's fake anymore. It's one big blur. Another thing I do to think about something else. I tell myself that one day I will wake up, I will walk again, will see lights again, won't feel any pain, I won't cry blood and I won't shake like a chihuahua ever again. The biggest lie of them all is my favorite, I still hope it. I dream of it when I manage to sleep. I told it myself so many times, I begin to hear it. Not in my head, but in the corners of the room. Like there is someone, is it an angel? Is it God? I don't know. I just don't know.

It feels like twenty years ago, maybe it was, maybe it was six weeks ago. Again; I don't know. It feels like a long time ago, when I saw them walking away. Their hair, waving in the wind. I braided her hair that morning, if that's what I remember correctly. His back, strong, big, trustworthy. Caring his child of two, crying on his shoulder. Screaming for his mom, reaching for that one, awful mom. He was holding her hand, the girl with the long blond hair. She didn't know what was happening. She was only four, could barely walk, because her feet were hurt. She wore her bracelet she made that day, made out of a old rope and some fake pearls.
She was so happy when she showed me, and I couldn't even fake a smile. Somehow she understood me, she really felt me. I don't know how, but for some reason she did. She placed her hand on my shoulder and came closer to my ear so she could whisper something. I remember what she said, I do remember it. And I know it is real. She said; "Mommy, I love you. I always have and I always will. No matter how sad you are. Even when you die, even when you leave me alone. Even then, I will love you." I couldn't believe she just said that, she looked ten years older. That was the last moment I really appreciated something. The last time I (kind of) smiled. I put her closer to me, like I would never let her go, which I did. I hugged her, for maybe three minutes, I let her go when she said that I could let her go. That was the moment. The moment my lips curled. The last smile.

I remember them walking away, I remember her turning her head. I remember the way she looked at me, she saw something. She didn't see a desperate housewoman, a terrible mother. She saw hope. I saw it in her eyes, it was like she was trying to tell me that it will be okay. Someday. Can be now or in fifty years. She closed her eyes and when she opened again, a tear rolled down her cheek, symbolizing the hope falling down. She knew it wasn't going to be alright. She knew it at the age of four.