March 3, 2017
By QijunZ SILVER, Tacoma, Washington
QijunZ SILVER, Tacoma, Washington
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"There's no such thing as perfect writing, just like there's no such thing as perfect despair."--Murakami Haruki

It was 2 in the morning, and a 35-year-old man was lying on a chair, where dust formed a tunnel under his glowing lamp. He felt the remaining warmness left on the sharp tip of the injector; the brownish beads had entirely blended into his crimson blood while one or two tiny bubbles popped up and off  the surface.
A red spicy smell overflowed the glass tube he was holding in his hand. In a mixture, the smell sharpened his sleepy mind, reminding him the fact that he was left alone with solitude in a quiet isolated room.
He rose from the chair, where several injectors lied upon it, and limped downstairs with imperfect paces. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty house. Everything in the room was covered in dust-- a thick layer of dust. Photos hanging on each side of the wall were blurred, only showing fuzzy shapes of singular figures. Gleams from the neighborhood glittered in a perfect angle that stroked his eyes. On the contrary, the dim living room provided a tiny space that tolerated his existence.
Right next to where he was standing, there was an inserted safe in the wall. Somehow, he remembered that it was built a few months ago, right before his wife died. A gray sadness shone on his pupils, bringing tears out from the corners of his exhausted eyes. She was the only person who he had relied on through his life. That night in the hospital, she left in a silent dream, leaving him in a world of suffering and solitude. No one had ever told him about the death of his wife, however. Only until the next morning he saw the name card posting outside the room was changed. Then, even his family-in-law refused to meet him, saying there had never been relationship between them.
He knew what was waiting for him inside the safe. It was a letter, the last gift from his wife, which proved their love was true and had been real to the world. Bearing her weak body, she asked him to only open the safe when he was desperate.
After hesitating for a while, he rotated the scratched number lock. Though it seemed to be the first time in his life operating this, he felt a familiarity from the icy lock.
09…31...63...” He murmured while he was handling the lock. Unlike his neighbor, who needed to check the calendar every time to make sure, he would never forget about his darling's birthday.
The safe was finally opened; a pale white letter lie in the little space. He grabbed it instantly and smelled her. A smell of mums, of course, he knew that was her favorite.
As he opened the letter and flipped the blank piece of paper, a brief line of small but exquisite words emerged on the page: “Go to the balcony.”
He fell into sudden astonishment.
Was that it? The love of all the sweet memory and time they spent together were compressed into these feeble and emotionless words? He could hardly control the vertigo lingering in his mind and collapsed onto the sofa next to him. He thought of all the possibilities, but still could not find a reasonable answer.
After a few seconds of hesitation, he made up his mind and lifted his body.
And that was the moment when drug’s effect took place.
At the moment he stepped out onto the balcony, an enormous weight climbed up from his leg and tried to pulled him down to the underworld. Every step he made, forceful and screaming from behind, increased. He gripped the letter tightly and focused his eyesight on the door. Right before he could touch the door with jalousies on, something rough but powerful grabbed his neck. He started to cough and he spit a mouthful of blood.
However, he knew he could not stop. That was the place she wanted him to be and probably the last connective place to their lives. As soon as he thrust the door aside with all his strength, rays of sunlight snapped out from the frames and rushed into the room. All but in a sudden, the screaming along with the force were all gone. He leaned his body on the door as his  strength drained. The warmness from the first rays of sunlight soon covered his body into milk white serenity. He saw his wife, dressed in pure white with two giant wings on her back standing on the rails of the window, offering him her hands. She was so closed that he could just reach her by stepping out.
“Come here, darling. Just a few more steps...”
Breeze swept all the pain he just received, and brought him into her warm hug.
A few seconds later, eyes closed with tears, he crashed onto the hard concrete and splashed. Yet his illusion took him away from the unbearable pain. Covered in scarlet, he turned to his translucent wife and smiled, ignoring the pressure and pain from his smashed chest.
“Now we’ll be together.”

The author's comments:

Please read this after you finish!! SPOILER

Clarification: the man's wife is his imagination, which appears after the man overdosed. If you would like to, check the numbers of the safe on your calendar. I also bury some other clues to show that everything is only an illusion.

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