domingo, 3 de março de 2013

In the dark

She sat there, so small. So small.
Darkness was a veil around her, a heavy curtain of utter blackness, nothing there but air. And not much of it either. It was getting harder to breathe. She smiled and sat there like a good little girl, waiting.
 At first, she’d been afraid of the dark and of the nameless, faceless things that lurk in its black folds. She had been afraid to die, clinging to life the way we all living things do. She’d tried to escape, tore her fingers clawing at nothing. At the wall, at the floor. She had painted it red with her blood. She couldn’t see it, but she could smell the faint rustiness of it. It was sweet, and made her sick.
There was an empty plastic bag by her side, and a cat. She couldn't remember what he bag was for. Maybe there had been food in it before. Before what, though?  She didn't know, couldn't recall. The little cat was dead, its white fur nearly gleaming like a lonely star in the blackness of the universe. She had watched it slowly die and trembled. She didn’t know why it had died. Maybe it was thirsty, maybe it was sad. Sad thirsty things faded like burnt out candles, and so had her cat. So would she.
She was thirsty too, a little hungry, but not afraid anymore. Blackness was a blessing now. Nothing was there if you couldn't see it. Something was there, though, she hoped it was her death. She wished it would come soon, out of the black, a monster with no face. She wouldn't fight it. She'd be thankfull. Maybe she’d find her way to heaven. On her path, she’d find her cat. Maybe. Or perhaps the young boy who’d been there with her in the beginning. He’d had a nice voice, a little shaky. Would he speak if they met on the way? Would she recognize him if the light of heaven shone upon him?
She hoped so. Like she hoped she’d run out of air soon, or maybe die from  sadness like her cat. Sadness was pure. Like a blade. Or a heavy stone, heavy in  her chest. She laid sideways on the hard wet surface and sighed. She petted her dead cat. It was warm still. She dreamt of the sun, and then stopped dreaming. Dreaming  made the heavy rock in her heart a little lighter, the room la little ess empty, a little less dark, the hours much longer before her death. She wanted it to be fast.
She was lonely and lost and nothing could be worse.

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