I woke up this morning and thought I was dead. Sorry, I woke up this morning, dead. It takes time getting used to. But time I have got. The pen feels heavy in my hand, and the paper too light. But together they are me. Together, they are all I have left. My chair does not creek as I sit on it, my walls have lost their peaceful effect on me. It will take time getting used to, it certainly will. The tip of my pen touches the paper in front of me and I begin. My life begins. But ‘I am dead’ is all I write. Nothing follows.
All of a sudden my thoughts cease to flow. My pen slides out of my hand. I panic. I do not know what is happening. Memories start pacing in my mind. All revealed. All make a collage of beauty. My life suddenly becomes a mere picture. I have lost control. I have lost me. I cannot move. I try. I try again. I do not move a centimetre. Feelings of uselessness surround me. I surrender. I stop fighting and just float. I have always wanted to fly, to be above everyone. Who would have thought a wish can come true even after it is too late? I look down, around. It feels beautiful. But I stop. I stare. Down below, I see me. My body. Still. I see the faint smile on my face. A smile only I can recognise. It makes me smile, but not for long. I realise I am now detached from myself. Only one of us can see, hear, feel, and it is not the beautiful girl on the bed.
I see my husband turn and kiss me on the cheek, ‘Good morning love’ I hear him say. But only I can hear. I witness him slowly register the stillness of my body, my lack of breath. His eyes widen in horror. It is raining down there. How I wish I can console him. He squeezes me tight, trying to get a reaction from me. But there is none. Panic-stricken, he removes his hands from me and pushes back, trying to wake himself from an apparent dream. He pushes too far and falls on the floor taking the covers down with him. His eyes express his grief, but I cannot move and soothe him. He slowly removes the covers of off himself and wraps them around me. Lying on top of the covers he puts his arms around me once more, holds me tight, and cries out ‘You promised me one last dance Linda’. I can almost feel a lump grow in his throat, can almost feel his breath get heavier, but not quiet. Tears come down tracing a path of pain. His cheeks become a map of wretchedness. I cry. But I do not feel my tears. I only feel heavy-hearted. Despondent. I float. I look down once more, embrace the image. I am gone.