Time is a truly confusing concept. They say there are sixty seconds in a minute; sixty minutes in an hour. Twenty-four hours in a day; seven days in a week. Four weeks in a month, and twelve months in a year. Why though? Who's to say that it cannot be two hours in a minute, or perhaps four years in a month? For me, time is nothing but an indulgence I can dive into when I have nothing else to preoccupy my over-full mind. I use it mostly to ponder about the strangeness of the human kind, and figuring out their silent agreement to not give up, and live on. My white eyes have seen so many deaths in a day, it is quite impossible for me to believe why humans didn't rip each other to pieces yet.
Most times, the deaths I witness are of the normal kind; a car accident, a kidnapping, or simply death of old age. During these, I keep a straight face and an empty mind, letting the events simply float by as I stare at the pale faces of those in front of me and their quiet whimpers. Some times however, I come across a death which should have never been called for, and those special times, I am able to fully grieve the casualty as if it were my own. It is then that it is not them who hold their shaking hand out first, but I, a way of praising their hard battle. A simple 'well done' for holding on to the dark world for as long as they could.
Such death I came across a couple of 'passing on's' after my first meeting with the mysterious blue-eyed boy. When I arrived, I was greeted with the sight of a small, white room decorated with a couple of colourful birthday cards and floating balloons. There were two twin beds in the room, one of which sat unoccupied beside the entrance. The other, an exact replica of the empty one, housed a small, fragile girl beneath its sheets. Her eyes were closed peacefully, and her gleaming head rested comfortably propped up on a mountain full of feather pillows. Her blue lips were parted, and to me, it seemed like little snowflakes were flowing silently out, vaporising when they reached the thick air.
Beside the bed, there were two chairs either side. On these, sat two people; a golden-haired woman and a balding man. A grieving mother, and a silent father. Flowing tears leaked out of the woman's caramel eyes shamelessly, as her gaze focused on the unmoving being in front of her. Sobs racked her body, and her hands couldn't help clutching the girls face. Not only was the young girl gone, the mother, it seemed, was as good as her. Miserable. Lonely. Enraged. Dead.
The father, though, kept his mourning strictly to himself. His dishevelled face, although folded into an expression of pure sadness, kept strong for the woman in front of him. There were tears slowly building up in his grey, worn-out eyes but he refused to let them flow as he stared at what once was his beautiful young daughter. The small child which run around laughing in peaceful joy as she chased the common butterfly, well at least until her body was overcome by the agonising pain in her abdomen. So incredibly free until cancer decided to attack her small frame.
I took my time walking towards her; I couldn't help it. I let my footsteps echo through the room filled with the sound of sobbing, and the steady high-pitched 'beep' on the machine next to the girl. The green, thin line was unmoving against the dark background, and it was unlikely to start moving once again. Keeping my eyes on the thinning line, I was reminded of an expression I heard a long time ago; the machine that monitors the heart, is nothing more than a hologram of the hope hanging in the air. Now the line was still, and the breaking hope evaporated like water in a saucer of reality.
When I reached the side of the shining girl, I reached out my already frozen hand to limply touch her forehead. The moment I made contact with her icy skin, I pulled away, completely surprised at the pure knowledge and strength still left in her old memories. In that moment, the world lost such a massively clever girl. If she'd survived her battle, she would have grown up to be the most relished human on the planet, looked up to simply because she was able to appreciate everyone, no matter whom they were.
YOU ARE READING
"I do not look back. I do not feel guilt. I am cold. Lifeless. I am Death." Death has always been a mystery to man-kind, and some have come up with numerous explanations to it. There's the Grim Reaper, Heaven and Hell, and there's some who believe...