Short Stories.

Epiphany

What was the point of living? What was so damned precious about life that despite all the pain and the misery you choose to live and suffer instead of leaving this wretched world and dying peacefully? All it would take was a single bullet to your heart and it would be over.

There were plenty of alternatives that were comparatively less painful. Like a quick slash of your wrist and then you'd only have to wait till you bleed out. Or even better, you could pop some pills into your mouth and doze off in an eternal slumber.

What perturbed me was that despite the pain, people chose to continue with their lives while complaining, ignoring this perfectly reasonable solution to all their worries. I had often struggled to discern the point of this.

For the past four months, I had been forcing myself to live. On the fateful day my mother died, I did not just lose her, I also lost a part of myself. My purpose and the root of my happiness, it was all gone with that piece of me which she took with her. Since then, my life had been nothing but a facade.

Despite the hollow void in my chest and this strong urge to end it all, I continued to live out my days, like a walking corpse, an empty shell of a human.

Why should I put up with this? The question reverberated in my mind when I woke up this morning, as it had been echoing everyday. Unlike usual, this time I knew the answer because for the first time I thought about it. And now I knew exactly how to deal with this.

Squirming out of my bed, I got ready for school and went down to have breakfast, the only meal I was forced to share with my father.

"Good Morning," he said. As always, he didn't even bother to look up from his newspaper.

"Good Morning," I said back, ending our conversation. After Mom's death, these two words were the only thing we had to say to each other. It had become our morning ritual. If it weren't for that, we might have already forgotten each other's voices by now.

I sat down to attack my food which was already laid out on the table by our housekeeper.

I was done in less then ten minutes, so I slung my bag and turned to leave.

On my way to school, I ran into my least favorite neighbor, Mr Thompson, the nosiest old man I've known. I tried to hide behind a pole before he noticed me, but I was too late.

"Molly!" The corners of his mouth quirked up into a wide smile. "How are you? We live nextdoor to each other but I hardly see you anymore!" He patted my shoulder. "You've become so pale, you should really get out in the sun more often."

"I'm getting late for school so if you don't mind..." I let my sentence trail off.

"Of course, dear. I won't disturb you with chitchat. Just come by the house sometime. My wife will be eager to have you."

"Sure," I lied. "I'm off then."

As I was about to scurry away, he put his beefy palm on my shoulder once again. "Wait, Molly, um," he hesitated, "you're really okay?"

I was so infuriated by his prying that I almost shouted at him, though I regained my composure. "I'm okay."

"You don't seem so good these days." There was genuine concern in his eyes, his tone solicitous. "Your dad, he'd been worried about you, so-"

Liar! I thought, mincing my teeth, breathing in my rising fury. "Can we talk later? I'm late."

"Sure!" He smiled. "Have fun at school."

***

I had no intention of coming home from school.

My mind was made. What was the point of living when you couldn't feel anything but emptiness. I was only a carapace of human skin and bones without any emotions. I didn't feel sad or hurt or angry that my mother wasn't around anymore. I felt nothing. In my mind, I was standing completely alone in a huge wasteland surrounded by void.

This morning, I realized nothing was holding me back from ending it all. It was my life. It was up to me to end it.

Since I had already lost everything dear to me, I decided I was going to see my mom again, and retrieve the part of me which was missing.

I arrived at the bridge and stared at the rippling water below it. Before I changed my mind, I jumped.

I heard a loud splash and the next thing I knew, cold water was biting my skin, sending shiver upon shivers. Barely ten seconds had passed when the lack of air made my lungs tremble.

I can take it, I told myself. This pain was nothing compared to what I had been going through for the past four months.

When I imagined my untimely demise, I thought I'd cherish my last moments on earth with the fleeting memories of mom floating in my mind, before death would finally come, taking me away from this cursed world to a utopia of peace.

The reality was a horror. As I was drowning, the only think I could concentrate on was how desperately my lungs were fighting for air and how badly I wanted to survive. My arms and legs were flailing reflexively, trying to hold on to something for dear life and my hair floated up. I gasped, and the coolness rushed inside before the oxygen deprivation took hold of my senses rendering them useless. The last thing I remembered was a pair of burly arms wrapping around me.

***

A familiar face was looming above me when I tore open my eyes. It belonged to Mrs Thompson.

"Bob!" She squealed with delight pressing a moist kiss on my forehead. "She's awake!"

Mr Thompson hurried in, followed by my Dad, who wrapped me into his arms in a bone crushing hug. "You're alright!"

I tried to recall how I ended up at the Thompson's and the memories came rushing back, hurting my head. I remembered falling, the cold, and how my lungs had screamed for oxygen.

An epiphany struck me, that I wasn't strong enough, and I was ashamed. After mom was diagnosed with cancer, she kept fighting each day for two years just so she could survive. For me.

I remembered her tears, her silent moaning, and the sleepless nights. The pain was so unbearable for her that I saw her trembling like a leaf. Yet, she never gave up. She bore it with patience.

She suffered that kind of pain for two years what I couldn't bear for two minutes.

I hadn't quite recovered from the shame, when the guilt kicked in. My eyes flooded as I slowly raised my trembling hands to wrap around my dad who was still hugging me.

I could tell from his uneven breathing how hysterical he was. His rapid heartbeat was proof of how worried he had been for me. No words were required. I started to quietly sob as he sat there holding me.

***