Life and other Disasters

6. The distance

David was sitting at his regular spot in the cafe. He couldn't remember how long he had been here. He was waiting, observing the others from the place next to the window that he claimed as his own. Had days passed or weeks since he arrived here? He didn't keep track, didn't care, and took a sip from the warm tea. It was apple-flavored, like everything in this place.

The woman who owned this place had started her morning routine. First, she made breakfast. Tea and homemade bread served with apple butter and cinnamon sugar. Then she would drag out the linen, pillows, and duvets, shaking them up, letting the fresh morning air in. Feathers were floating through the air like snowflakes.

The other guests helped her with her tasks, gathered eggs, washed the dishes, the usual stuff.

David would do his chore later, chop up some wood, so there would be enough wood for the fire in the hearth tonight. The physical work suited him; it calmed him; it brought back memories to his life. He performed his tasks in silence, as he didn't want to mingle too much with the others. He wasn't a social person, never had been. He felt safe in his spot next to the window, watching the others from a distance.

One of the other guests, the man who looked like a truck driver, had tried to talk to him but gave up when he hit too many walls in their conversation. It wasn't that David wanted to be unfriendly; he just knew that his time here was limited. He knew he would die, and he didn't want to leave people more upset than necessary.

He couldn't remember what happened to him. There were flashes of memories popping up now and then. They left him feeling frustrated about the situation. He wanted to see the whole film of what happened to him. One of his last memories was getting on his motorcycle that morning, to go to one of his projects. Then there was something on his side of the road, something that shouldn't have been there.

It was an accident - that much he knew. He had seen his body afterward. It had been in shatters. Sometimes he saw images of how he must look right now, lying in a hospital, tied up to machines that kept him alive, but those images grew sparser and sparser. He was surprised he was even still alive.

And so he passed his days here, waiting until it was his time. Until the third sister would appear, give him the nod and take him with her.

There were three of them. The dark one, the one with the lantern who took him here. The red one, the one with the apples, who was taking care of him.

 And then there was the white one, the one with the sharp blade, who would take him away.

She didn't have a name. Everyone here called her She. Respect and fear were evident in their voices when they talked about her. Some people walked up to Her, asking her to please, please take them away. Some tried to hide from her, but it was no use. She always found the person she was looking for. 

David hadn't made a decision yet. He had loved his life. It had been a good life, and he was well aware of it. Of course, he had known setbacks, misfortunes, and broken hearts, but who didn't?

He missed his family. He had seen their grief, and it pained him to see them that way. He missed his friends, his work, and his motorcycle.

How many times had he fought with his mother over his bike? How she had hated it when he brought his first machine home. He had been so proud until his mother had started yelling at him. 

"That thing is a tool of destruction," she had yelled at him. "It will be the death of you."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she had said, "You can start organizing your funeral." 

He knew she didn't mean it; she never did. It was her way of showing him that she cared for him. He had seen her in the hospital. She was shivering like a little bird, begging him to come back, cursing at him for riding his stupid motorcycle that morning. Thinking of his mother made him sad.