Post Mortem Post Stationery

Chapter 1

It was all so confusing. But she was numb to the pain, now. She was out of tears. She would have cried until the Earth was flooded. But she couldn't. All she could do was keep living. He couldn't do that. Not anymore. It was all she could do to drag herself from bed that morning. Her parents had to physically help her into that room. But she couldn't bear to look at his body. It was wrong. So wrong. He wouldn't have. He wouldn't have left her. He cared so much. She just couldn't believe it. It had to be a nightmare. A nightreaver, he had called it, she remembered fondly. Her always had the best names. Nightreavers absolutely stole your night, stole your sleep. She just wished that this would end. She would call this funny, if some sadistic ruler of the dream world would let her go. But no matter how she tried, relief never came. It was all so hopeless.
     They asked her to go up, in that nasty room. They wanted her to speak. She was his best friend, she mused. She slowly walked up. It took an eternity. All those faces, looking into hers, proffering sympathy. She slowly got to the microphone. She couldn't remember what exactly she said. Just that a world without him was hopeless. He had been so perfect. So optimistic. She said that, without him, there was no reason to live. The planet would die sooner or later. Nothing could be worse than this. She went back to her seat, taking another eternity in the process. She didn't read that last message to them. It was too strange. But she did have the key to his final days. He had left her the password to his computer. He always had been suspicious and cynical. But she had not expected anything to happen. Suspicions were only suspicions.
     They were reading his diary, now. It started two years ago. The day he had met her. Or at least, that is where consistency picked up. He had wrote a few times before that, but apparently, she had been so amazing as to have him completely astonished by the everyday. That black-haired woman was reading. She was kind. But why wasn't she crying? How could she cope with the everyday? How could she live? She was his mother, after all. She thought that woman so cold. Part of her denied her, said that his sweet mother would have done anything for anyone. But she buried tha thought.
     As she was watching the city fly by through her backseat window, she knew that those last four months were all lies. He had been acting strangely since New Year's Day. She stated sullenly at the sky. It should be storming. It was April, after all. He had said something odd on the first. He had said that he would die on the 13th. He always said that he would die on a Friday 13th. He always was mildly superstitious. When he had told her that on the 1st, it had seemed odd. He looked ready to run, terrified, as if someone was hunting him. He hadn't played April Fools pranks before, although he constantly had a sarcastic comment on hand. Maybe he was lightening up, she had thought at the time. Apparently, he wasn't.