A collection of short stories surrounding death. About living with death, coping, not coping, letting go and holding on.
Because at the end of the day, what do we have but memories?
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Four grey walls. No windows, no door. Grey floor, grey ceiling. Empty. She didn't know what it was or how she got there. Maybe she had always been there. It was like time and space had disappeared. All there was was the room.
She remembered things. From somewhere, someone. Not here. There is a time for every place, and a place for every time. She thought about it, but she couldn't remember who said it. This place didn't have any time that belonged to it. For that to happen the place must be a location of feeling. This wasn't a place like that. It was linear. She liked lines. This place was not on the line. It bothered her. This box had many lines. Along the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Corners. Perfect symmetry. Cold, empty. No colour, no feeling. But oh so beautiful.
timecomestimegoeswhodieswhoknows
Now there was colour again. Had she been dreaming? There was light. Sun, maybe. If it was day. She had her curtains closed. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to be here. Here, where there were feelings. Where there was colour. It made things complicated. She thought of how daddy cried every time he walked into her bedroom. How he said something is wrong, or we need a doctor.
She never said anything back. She just pretended to sleep. Because when you sleep you don't feel. There was food on the bedside table. She didn't eat. She closed her eyes and thought. There is a time for every place, and a place for every time. This wasn't the place for this time. She needed to go.
timecomestimegoeswhodieswhoknows
The room was back again. This time it had a window. It stood in the middle of the room. The window showed a black-haired girl in a bed. The girl looked sad somehow. She didn't pity her. The girl was asleep, unable to feel.
She touched the windowglass, and it shattered. She stepped in the room. It was dark. The curtains were closed. The girl laid still, very still, too still. She doubted that the girl was alive. Suddenly there was sound. Feet on a staircase, and she ran back into the room. The window wasn't there anymore.
timecomestimegoeswhodieswhoknows
Steps. Steps.
She woke up from the steps in the stairs. She pretended to be asleep. Daddy came in. She could hear he was sad from how he breathed. He didn't say a word. He kissed her temple. She was facing the wall, wishing she was asleep. He left. She sighed. Maybe she better be dead. Maybe death is the place for her future and present time. Sleep came again. She was empty.
timecomestimegoeswhodieswhoknows
The room, one more time. This time the window showed an identical room. The girl was standing there. She moved, and the girl moved with her. The girl was strange. The girl was not her. The girl was dead. She was empty. No feeling. No colour.
She liked the girl. The girl seemed nice. She touched the glass and it broke again. The room was the same. The girl was gone. She laid down on the floor. This wasn't on the line. Maybe it was a circle. Maybe this was her place and time. Maybe she didn't have a time, and no place. Just like the room. She thought about it more. The room was like her. Small, unfeeling, empty. Out of space and time. Maybe she was the room.
She could live with that.
timecomestimegoeswhodieswhoknows
Daddy called the hospital. It was in the place with colour. She didn't want to go to the hospital. She might as well fall asleep. She hated waking up. What if she didn't? What if she just slept and slept and never had to get up? She liked that thought. She closed her eyes, and shut everything down. Sleep came, for the last time.
timecomestimegoeswhodieswhoknows
Room again. Once again there was a mirror. The girl was in the bed. There was a man in a suit and two women in uniforms. They touched the girl's neck, shaking their uniform heads. The man cried. The girl was dead at last. She was glad. The girl wouldn't have to feel. She didn't either. It was like she was lowering. Into the grey floor, to where feeling wasn't real. To where nothing held her back. And in the last moments, she felt. Something new. Things she'd only heard people speak of. Happiness. Peace. Bliss.
