The Never Ending Sky
Copyright © 2014
XxFanFixX
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Prologue
As I watched them mourn my own father's death, this strange sort of detatchment from the world etched its way into my heart.
The trees surrounding the church grounds rattled with the growing winds, a low mist setting itself at the heels of my feet.
It was not thick not threatening, but merely so determined that I felt its power inside me, pushing deep into the depths of my body, freezing my bones.
People in black surrounded me. Not many, but enough for me to wonder just how each knew my father. I did not know one of them.
A woman, in her hearty 30's maybe, stood on the opposite side of the ceremony as me, so that I could see her face. A young child sat on her hip, a man, average height, by her side. As I watched, the child made a usual, non-verbal blubber- and the mother offered him a, however small, smile.
I suppressed the almost overwhelming need to scream at them, how dare she bring her love here, her family, to a place where there was no longer any more. How could she even think to show the care for her child that id never see again?
Instead, knowing fine well that the small voice In my head was completely unpredictable and unreliable, I simply closed my eyes and breathed.
I heard the sniffles of a few people surrounding me, and again it lead me to wonder exactly who these people were. Where had they been the last 19 years? I'd like to know that.
I would not cry like them. For me, crying, no matter how small the tears or silent the cries, was like admitting something I wasn't ready for. I was admitting to the pain I felt everyday, reminded of what I'd lost. I was admitting to the weakness in me, that cowered away from the very idea of being completely alone. I was admitting, finally, that they were in fact gone, and they weren't ever coming back to.
I was 18 when we found out about the bronchial cancer that was already too far spread for treatment. My father was 44.
We got six months out of him. I would say they were good, they were a final chance to say my goodbyes, but I'd be lying. Most days were spent in hospital beds or with him in chemo therapy.
If I could have wished one thing, it would have been that he'd let go sooner. We knew he was gone before we started treatment, it was just for the pain, really.
3 days after my fathers 45th birthday, 7 days after mine, I sat in that hospital waiting room alone, with the bitter, bitter silence.
When the doctor came from him room, not but a solemn expression, yet I felt the death clinging to him. It was much like the other times.
His fight was over, but mine had just begun.
And I clung to his words, so very few, that he had last managed to say to me, "I was supposed to be here," he had whispered. Yes, I wanted to say, you were.
The ceremony ended quickly, a few solemn word spoken and then it was over and the world kept spinning.
I think that was the hardest part to grasp. "Damn you, world." I'd whispered, my voice clenched as I turned to leave. "You just lost one amazing motherfucker." But it just kept spinning.
I ended getting a table at the cafe my dad and I went to every Wednesday. I didn't particularly understand what drew me here, but it felt fitting-Somewhere that held the fondest memories of the person you couldn't create anymore for.
So I drank the bitterness that was served in a cup, swallowed my heart ache, and left that little hole in the wall.
My life was a story, a fucked up, death laden story, and I needed one hell of a rewrite.
