Thursday Writing
Yesterday I Died
Yesterday I died.
What’s going on? Where am I? I am bounded. I do not have much space to move my arms and legs, four cold hard walls are pressing against my skin. I am trapped. I am enclosed in a dark area, and the walls are lined with a soft silky fabric, yet it is so cold. I am scared.
Suddenly I can see; I can see everything. I can see the light, the dark, and the children playing tag across the street. I can see the high school, the students flooding out the door after a long day of education. I can the traffic crawling slower than a snail along the crowded highway. I can see my house.
My mother sits solemnly alone on the couch in the dark living room, her eyes red and watering. Her whole face just screams fear and devastation. Her pale face is covered with tear trails and the bags under her eyes hint exhaustion. She breaths unevenly and she is shaking; her arms are crossed tightly across her chest. My father comes into view and gravely sits beside my mother. He offers his shoulder to my mom and she lays her head down as she begins to cry hysterically. All my father can do is soothe her by rubbing her back in a circular motion.
I hear my mother cry, “She’s gone, Jeff, she’s gone.”
What are you talking about Mom, I’m right here! I yell through the window banging hard and loud. I realize they cannot hear me and I wonder why that is. I wonder around the busy street lonely and sad. People are buzzing by and as I try to step out of their way, I just go right through them. What is happening? I am invisible or something?
While I am off in La-Dee-Da-World my feet lead me to a single box alone in a brightly lit room. I squint from the bright light and my feet walk me closer to the box. The box is standing on a table about waist high. It is a warm polished mahogany box with a bouquet of white carnations on the top. Something in my mind is telling me to lift the lid and I obey. I lift the lid and it squeaks and creeks as I do so. The lid is off and I see… myself.
Suddenly I realize: I died yesterday.
What’s going on? Where am I? I am bounded. I do not have much space to move my arms and legs, four cold hard walls are pressing against my skin. I am trapped. I am enclosed in a dark area, and the walls are lined with a soft silky fabric, yet it is so cold. I am scared.
Suddenly I can see; I can see everything. I can see the light, the dark, and the children playing tag across the street. I can see the high school, the students flooding out the door after a long day of education. I can the traffic crawling slower than a snail along the crowded highway. I can see my house.
My mother sits solemnly alone on the couch in the dark living room, her eyes red and watering. Her whole face just screams fear and devastation. Her pale face is covered with tear trails and the bags under her eyes hint exhaustion. She breaths unevenly and she is shaking; her arms are crossed tightly across her chest. My father comes into view and gravely sits beside my mother. He offers his shoulder to my mom and she lays her head down as she begins to cry hysterically. All my father can do is soothe her by rubbing her back in a circular motion.
I hear my mother cry, “She’s gone, Jeff, she’s gone.”
What are you talking about Mom, I’m right here! I yell through the window banging hard and loud. I realize they cannot hear me and I wonder why that is. I wonder around the busy street lonely and sad. People are buzzing by and as I try to step out of their way, I just go right through them. What is happening? I am invisible or something?
While I am off in La-Dee-Da-World my feet lead me to a single box alone in a brightly lit room. I squint from the bright light and my feet walk me closer to the box. The box is standing on a table about waist high. It is a warm polished mahogany box with a bouquet of white carnations on the top. Something in my mind is telling me to lift the lid and I obey. I lift the lid and it squeaks and creeks as I do so. The lid is off and I see… myself.
Suddenly I realize: I died yesterday.
♠ ♠ ♠
Age 16. Thurs 9/22