Not your turn- Demise express

Part 20- Is this the end?

I had stopped crying, but my mother still held me close as I did her, none of us ready to let go. "When is the funeral?" I murmured, my voice soar and shaky from crying. "Emily's funeral? I hate to say this dear, but it was about two months ago."

Of course, it had been. While I was still trying to find back into my old life, there was no need to keep the body and hold the family in anticipation and grief.

On the weekend I talked my parents into letting me get the groceries, and more importantly, driving on my own again. It was a long and strenuous trip. I ran by a flower shop and bought two bouquets. It was just a hunch, but I had the feeling that my mom was lying. I definitely knew Emily somehow. I just couldn't remember. Otherwise, why would I have a picture of the two of us scrunched up and a bit washed out in the pocket of my jeans jacket? It was a photo strip with us in a photo booth, smiling at the camera. With us in the booth was a boy as well. I sat in my driver's seat and pulled out said photo strip. I flipped it. The handwriting on the back was clearly my own. I felt like right now, I was the only one I could trust. It felt like I was trying to tell myself something. Something important. I felt like I was missing something. I thought where I met, how I knew these people. They looked so familiar and yet...I couldn't remember.

I knew the girl's name, Emily Brooks. And as far as I could tell, my handwriting said Philip Walton. And of course my name, Lia Owens. It didn't have a time stamp on it, so I had no clue when it was taken but it didn't look super old.

I had searched their names and found out that they were both buried in the main cemetery. So that's where I went.

I parked my car, grabbed my two bouquets, and slowly made my way over to the section which new graves, where some didn't even have tombstone yet but were marked by a simple wooden cross. I didn't have to search long to find Emily Brooks' grave. I placed one of the bouquets on the dirt pile and went down on one knee to bow my head in respect.

"Emily, I am so sorry" I muttered under my breath. "I know we must have somehow known you. It seems like we were friends once. That's why it pains me even more, that I hit you with my car and..." I couldn't continue.

My throat was dry and tears were running down my cheeks. I just kneeled there and try to catch myself. She was dead because of me. How could I not have seen her and swerved earlier? I could have paid more attention to the road. Why didn't I? I didn't remember. Shaking, I tried to find Philips grave, had to ask for directions by a gardener, who seemed to know exactly who was where and so I stumbled on. As it turned out, Phillip had been cremated, explaining why I didn't find a grave.

I went to find the section with the walls with little holes, where the urnes stood in. Someone else was standing there, sitting on a bench across from the wall and just looking at it. I tried to mind my business and scanned the names in an attempt to find Phillips. As it turned out, it was where the person was sitting. I just awkwardly made my way toward the little stone platter in the wall with his name on it and placed the bouquet on the ground before it.

"You came?"

"Excuse me?" I asked, surprised, and turned around to see a man, who looked very similar to Phil, just older and more on the blonde side.

"You came to see my brother? Phillip?" he asked getting up from the bench.

"I mean- yeah. We were friends. I think." I bit my lip at how weird that sounded.

"You think?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah" I replied lamely "I had an accident and slipped into a coma, which I just recently woke up from. I don't remember everything, unfortunately."

"I am sorry to hear that." He said, now realizing

"I just know that I had this picture in my pocket when I came to, but I don't remember when it was made." I got the little photo strip out of my jacket pocket and handed it to him. He looked at it in aw, looking at all of our happy faces. Tears started crystalizing around his eyes. He had to sit down on the bench.

"Yeah that is my brother no doubt," he said, sniffling. "He looks so happy. You three seem like great friends."

"We were, yes. At least I think so. Emily, the other girl on the picture, was recently run over in an accident." I said quietly "The same accident I almost died in. I hit her with my car." I started shaking, and he helped me sit down on the bench beside him.

At first, he didn't know what to say.

"Tell me about Phillip," I begged him

"Well," he said after a minute of thinking "he was always more of a quiet kid. He kept to himself a lot, especially after our parents' divorce and their fight about who gets what. Before our mother started abusing alcohol to cope with our cheating dad, he was the happiest kid." A smile went across his face and then instantaneously died again. "But then one day, he said he was going out, and ran into the wrong people and almost got beaten to death. He was stable in the hospital, but then he hung himself. I think the pain my parents inflicted on him made him just wanting out. And I don't blame him."

We talked for a while.

"...you know, I didn't even know he had friends. Honestly. He never left the house except for the library or school. So I wonder when that picture was made since I think I would have heard about you by now." Noel said as I found out his name.

"I wish I could tell you" I replied. "All I have to offer is this picture and a very vague memory."

"I guess we'll never know." He said

"If you give me your number, I can call or text you if I happen to remember if you want of course." I offered which he took me up for.

And so I left the cemetery with a phone number and a guilty conscious since I wasn't able to provide the closure Noel needed.

That evening I decided, I would write them a letter every day. I took an empty composition book and on the first page glued in our picture. On the second page, I wrote the first few verses of a song I hadn't listened to in a while, since back then I thought it was too depressing. In beautiful letters, I wrote the title: Casualty, by Hidden Citizen and Tash. Then the first verse:

Sun won't rise for our morning

You cant come back from the dead

Try to dry my eyes for the fallen

But the tears won't wait for the rest

It's cold as ice

But this kind of fire don't keep us warm inside

It's cold as ice

Then, I started writing my letter. "Dear Emily, Dear Phil,

When I opened my eyes I thought a blinding bright light would have greeted me, but no. It wasn't that bright at all but dimmed, in a warm tone. I slowly blinked, taking in my surroundings, trying to process where I was.
The obvious explanation: I was in a train compartment, but not a modern one like they use in traffic, but an old one with wine red comfy velvet seats, little overhead shelves for luggage, a big window and dark wood-paneled walls. Little did I know, this was going to be the beginning of something weird, adventurous, and also something amazing.

Lyrics provided by lyricstranslate.com

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Dear Reader,

thanks so much for the final part, and reading "Not your turn- Demise express" and my first complete original story. Thanks for sticking along with the story and my protagonists on their journey between life and death. I hope you love them as much as I do and enjoyed this little adventure. Maybe we'll see each other in another story. Until then,

yours sincerely,

thestorysuntold