03-03-2017, 12:39 PM
It’s done.
I felt the dying of the year, the way time thrummed and vibrated against my skin, writhing and screaming in protest as the noose tightened again. Squeezing, constricting, choking the life out of a glowing white girl in a glowing white room, the light I’ve loved so much only serving to illuminate her features as the clock ticked away, counting down the seconds ‘til her death.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
She had sent me away before the countdown reached One, before that final moment of her life, before that glowing white had faded into nothingness. But I have dreamed it a hundred times, each more vivid than the last. Each more desperate, weighed down with more sorrow, more resignation. Thank you for staying with her. She so rarely has company, Time had said. But she was still alone in the end.
Maybe we all are.
I wonder if Time sent anyone this year, on a hopeless quest to try and save her. Maybe someone else would have made a different choice, would have fought to spare her, but the year passes, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Whether no one tried or they tried and failed, the old year dies and a new one begins. I feel its passing like a ship wrecking on the shore of inevitability, crashing into jagged rocks beneath the surface of a raging sea. Pounded by waves over and over, capsizing beneath the onslaught, tossed about and shattered, broken into so much wreckage floating on the water.
I can’t catch my breath, drowning beneath wave after wave of sorrow, tears running down cheeks long-since striped of their mousy baby grey and now slick black as the midnight sky on a night without stars. Even curled up beneath my favorite tree, my breath comes in desperate, shaky gasps as I give in to a year’s worth of doubt and guilt and sorrow, pulled under like so much flotsam caught in a riptide instead of washing ashore.
I felt the dying of the year, the way time thrummed and vibrated against my skin, writhing and screaming in protest as the noose tightened again. Squeezing, constricting, choking the life out of a glowing white girl in a glowing white room, the light I’ve loved so much only serving to illuminate her features as the clock ticked away, counting down the seconds ‘til her death.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
She had sent me away before the countdown reached One, before that final moment of her life, before that glowing white had faded into nothingness. But I have dreamed it a hundred times, each more vivid than the last. Each more desperate, weighed down with more sorrow, more resignation. Thank you for staying with her. She so rarely has company, Time had said. But she was still alone in the end.
Maybe we all are.
I wonder if Time sent anyone this year, on a hopeless quest to try and save her. Maybe someone else would have made a different choice, would have fought to spare her, but the year passes, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Whether no one tried or they tried and failed, the old year dies and a new one begins. I feel its passing like a ship wrecking on the shore of inevitability, crashing into jagged rocks beneath the surface of a raging sea. Pounded by waves over and over, capsizing beneath the onslaught, tossed about and shattered, broken into so much wreckage floating on the water.
I can’t catch my breath, drowning beneath wave after wave of sorrow, tears running down cheeks long-since striped of their mousy baby grey and now slick black as the midnight sky on a night without stars. Even curled up beneath my favorite tree, my breath comes in desperate, shaky gasps as I give in to a year’s worth of doubt and guilt and sorrow, pulled under like so much flotsam caught in a riptide instead of washing ashore.
pic by Qinni