The Mist Between Her And Forever

\\Chapter Twenty One\\

~No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear~

\\Chapter Twenty One\\

Gravity

Scientists usually describe it as a vertical force; however, we people have a different unique definition for it.

To us, it seems more like a sensation rather than a vertical force. It takes so many directions and shapes in every person. Some people experience it in love. Others in memories.

But how unfortunate are those that face it in loss? There it becomes a connection point between the force and the sensation.

Scientists stated gravity takes a constant value on earth, which is approximately equal to ten newton.

When people are in love, gravity increases to a certain value allowing objects to form intense connections between each other.

However, grief dumps the nasty stuff all over you. When death strikes, gravity decreases to zero and, eventually, everything floats.

You float.
Stay alive.
Stay numb.

I ranked it a five when my mother and sister died as I held desperately onto my zero, terrified it might escape me. And here it was escaping, my grand and horrid zero.

The silky black dress flowed softly reaching the bottom of my knees. This damn dress.
Still the same feeling that bit onto your skin as soon as the cloth touched your arms. A cold chilly feeling overwhelmed your whole body as that wicked spell finally sealed upon your soul.

Keen piercing eyes gazed back at me as I looked at this familiar girl facing me in the mirror.

A five-year-old girl with confused eyes looked dumbfounded at me. She didn't have a slightest idea why she's wearing such a dark color. She used to love bright colors. She pouted slightly begging me to tell her why such odious clothing was now labeled in her dressings.

"Your mother is gone sweetheart," the old lady informed the little girl who looked at the tears sliding down the cheeks of the old woman not knowing what to do. Everyone was crying while she just sat in the corner not understanding what that woman meant or what reaction she wanted out of her.

The image quickly faded from the mirror to be replaced by a different wrecked girl. This time the girl was weeping on her own. A fifteen-year-old sobbing her heart out with no old hag beside her to influence her reaction. All she had was a dead sister lying lifelessly in a coffin and a silent father that didn't bother to comfort her.

My fingers placidly traced the ravaged girl in the mirror as she evenly faded away. My current image stared back at me. No confused looks, no sobs and cries. Nothing. Cold eyes stared back at each other. Not a tear dared to flee from its socket.

The car horn interrupted the silence of the room that was beginning to dwell as a permanent resident in this house.

The last shown girl in the mirror silently left the house and got in the car heading to pure blackness. She left the house she grew up in exactly the same, but this time, with one broken mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mirk people in black.

They came and went. Consoled, then left. Everyone suddenly surrounded you. They're sorry for your loss. They wished that the dead would rest in peace.

They apologized. They wished. That's what people in funerals did. That's what they were taught to do.

A hand gently patted my back offering me some sense of security. Elena didn't say a word. She just stood by me as people gave solace to me. She held my hand every now and then as if making sure I could still sense the events happening around me.