Unsent Letters

White (short)

The sheets were a sickly white, but the room was dark.

She sat there, alone on the foreign bed, staring out the distant window into the vastness of a cityscape, lights dancing silently below. The quiet burrowed into her head and heart, pouring into the empty holes that had formed in secret.

Her face was pale and her eyes faded into a hollowness that few could explain with mere words. In her hands she held a sheet, its crinkled form wrapped about her thin wrists and then draped over her thighs. She didn't move so much as an inch, her frail body frozen line the Arctic, only her steady breath in the stale air moved her chest.

A door to the hallway opened from behind and a voice spoke softly as the door closed once again.

"Hey..."

Her gaze didn't waver, nor did her body shift, but he walked up to the bed and sat down next to her. Silent. The bed dipped with the new weight and she finally turned her head to look at him, eyes as empty as the life she barely held onto. A wave of pain flashed through those eyes as her gaze locked with his, and the warm tears began to form. Sobs. Sobs shook her body as everything fell apart inside; the death within poured out through quivering tears.

His arms stilled her, holding her close. In the silence of the room, their breathing was all that was heard. Then, in her very body, her soul began to tremor. The only thing to be felt was emptiness...

To this there is no remedy; to this there is no cure; to this there is no medicine to ease the pain. When she died inside, her heart burning with one certain end, he held her hand. In the numbness of that moment, he sat there, unable to let go.

The sheets were a sickly white, but the room was ever dark, and in the silence of that room, his breathing was the only thing that was to be heard.