Last moment

It is falling apart.

I can feel them slipping through my fingers, like sand. The tighter I hold, the faster they go. All of my efforts are slowly turned into dusk.

It used to be good. Or I thought so.

The sun hadn't even risen. The whole city was still lying quietly in the dark, despite the fact that it was almost seven.

A shadow floated swiftly along the road. This could be a nice horror story if that was something more than just a teenage girl, shivering in the soft early winter wind. She was just too illusory, like a cloud of mist that can be faded in a second. And the mist had a bright burning hair color, somewhere between artificial dyed red and nature auburn.

She turned at the corner of the street, ran down the hill.

I wrapped the thrown tighter around my body while staring out of the window, like a habit even I didn't feel cold. Or hot. Or anything. I glanced at him. He was sitting at the table, leaned over it and sleep, but not peacefully. An empty cup, must be filled with coffee, lying next to his head. Whenever he was tired, he would sit there, that familiar spot, with a cup of coffee and oddly falling asleep. But I loved that.

We met at college. Got married after the graduation. I worked at a small bookstore, did whatever they needed me to. He got a job as an accountant. We went out each and every holiday, or did we? It was nothing much. Simple story. It had been two years since then. There was not much to say about us. I couldn't think of anything that was special. It felt like everything had been programmed, and nothing could make it turn into another way.

I wanted to get him a blanket but also didn't want to. He was cold. I could see that in the way he curls up. I used to love that. I stared at him for a few minutes, effortlessly quiet. He looked old compared to the age of twenty-seven. He hadn't shaved for weeks. I didn't remind him. Did he forget that I hate seeing him like that?

The house did not feel like mine.

I got into our bedroom. My sketchbook was on the bed, the edge looked like it was burned. That's not normal. I flipped through a few pages. It used to be so easy. Seeing all the familiar sketches gave me throbbing pain in the heart. The only feeling that was clear.

I heard the doorbell. My heart skipped a beat. I ran to the door and floated through it. Painless.