Do Not Go Gentle

A Healing Confessional

Whoops, I haven't updated for a while... sorry, my mental health is a struggle with the whole lockdown thing going on in America but I desperately want to update for you guys so here it is, I hope it's readable lol.

Speaking of readable, just so you know this chapter is full of hallucinations so if it's a bit disconcerting then now you know why ;)

Thanks for the support,

Ally Layne.

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They say that the end is also the beginning, but the question to truly consider is what makes the beginning an end? Is that what this is? When darkness falls upon the land what does it mean when this all comes to an end?

What does it mean when everything simply ceases to exist, falling to ashes, and more ashes, then dust to dust?

Ash to ash; dust to dust.

A few figures came to view. I did not feel the presence of my body, nor my eyes, but for some reason, I still had the ability to see. It was not white nor black, my reality was a dreadful gray that seemed to suck the life out of my soul.

The space of dust and ash between the figures and I took shape, molding and forming into the old apartment that I grew up in, where my mom and Paul lived until their deaths.

They were in their bed.

They were the two figures who I had seen, and my mom was kicking at the man who lay next to her with the bottom of her heels as her back was turned to him. She kept her eyes shut while facing the opposite direction.

Her dark hair was in curly disarray that I had grown fond of playing with as a child, and Paul was twirling a piece of her hair between his fingers aimlessly. It seems as though he had become fond of her loving chaos, too.

His reading glasses were perched upon the end of his nose as he was sitting up against the headboard with a stack of student's papers in his hand. He was using the lamp that sat on the bedside table as a viable light to grade and let out a low hiss as he dropped the papers onto his lap took out a red pen and made some marks on the page.

"Paul," my mom's voice moaned, "go to sleep."

"Just one more paper, darling." He moved the hand twirling her hair to rub her back. "I swear it will not take longer than two minutes."

Another groan. "You said that ten minutes ago."

He peered above his readers to look at the alarm clock on his side table with a wary grin. "Oops."

Her heels sunk into his thighs even harder, making him let out a chuckle.

"Fine, I'll abide by your treacherous need for sleep this night. He used both his hands to cap his red pen and carefully took off his readers before placing the burdens down before shutting off the lamp. "Is this better?"

I saw a smile on her face as she started to hum, and something inside me, whatever I was, clenched at the sound. It had been a long time since I've heard her make that sound, something she used to do every night before bed.

She'd never sing.

She would hum.

Paul moved over to wrap an arm around her waist and lay his hand on her stomach. "Singing for the baby again?"

"Every night, my love." Her nose wrinkled slightly, and she turned her body with open eyes to stare him down. "And it's not singing, I'm humming. We both know I'm an atrocious singer."