This one's for you, Hendrik. Because I don't know what's going through your head right now, no one does, but sometimes I wonder if perhaps it's something like this. This oneshot is dedicated to you becuase you always were, and always shall be here, no matter what happens. I love you. I miss you. And I need you to come back because I can't do our Rita Ora dances on my own, I get too many weird looks :P

Keep going. And if you remember nothing else, then please, please remember this:

The world is beatable, one pirouette at a time :P

Love Flossie xxxx

This must be what they call the 'dark depths of despair.'

God, they're deep. They're deeper than you could ever have imagined, far deeper, so deep that you're struggling to find a way out. You feel a little like you're drowning, sinking to the bottom of a never-ending ocean and fighting a losing battle to force your way back up to the surface. Sooner or later you'll give up the battle and sink to the bottom forever, be lost in a bottomless pit of depression and surrender. You dug out your white flag a long time ago, metaphorically speaking, though only today have you felt an overwhelming desire to put it to use.

You don't know if you can do this anymore. You're too weak to carry on like this.

Weak. Oh, how you hate that word. Do you still hate it? Yes, you suppose you do. You hate it as much as ever and yet still you're only too willing to give in to it. You can't carry on as things are, don't want to carry on as things are. It's no good, it's hopeless. If things were ever going to change then they would have done by now, that's the conclusion you've come to. You would have seen a sign of change by now if it was ever going to come; its absence up until this point in time is proof to you it's never, ever going to come. Life will go on like this forever, this limbo land of hoping and waiting for improvement only to be let down again and again and again as it fails to come.

You can't live like that, not forevermore. But you don't know how to stop hoping.

It's a natural human instinct, you suppose. We live to hope, because without hope, what the hell would we have left? We depend upon hope to pull us through the darkest of times, out of the dark depths of despair which you find yourself submerged within now. Except sometimes, even hope isn't quite enough, as you've been discovering of late. And when hope isn't enough, god only knows where we end up.

It might not seem that way, but you don't want to give up hope. You don't want to give up hope because you don't want things to end like this, not really, not deep down. You've failed other battles in your life already, battles you fought so hard to win but lost the upper hand in at the last possible moment. Most of them relationships, now you think about it; you've fought so hard to hold on to the people you love and it's all been in vain, in the end, anyway.

You don't want the people you love to have to fight and lose a battle for you, you really don't. Maybe because you've fought those previous battles of your own, you know how it feels to lose someone forever, beyond shadow of a doubt? Quite possibly. You don't want them to be forced to face that battle because you know how much it hurts, watching those you love slip away from you. You've seen it happen in so many shapes and forms, but no matter how different the pain it always seems to burn in the same places, leaving your heart heavy with the raw emotions of it all.

You can't do that to the people you love, not knowing the pain as well as you do. But there's no other solution that comes to mind, no matter how hard you try to conjure one up. You've reached a dead end, nowhere else to turn to, no other options to explore.

Well, that's not strictly true.

Give it time, that's what everyone's been telling you. Give it time and you might see a change. They haven't said as much because they simply don't realise how horribly depressed this whole affair has made you, but if only they did know you just about know what they'd say. They would almost certainly tell you that given time you might see a change in your mental, emotional state too, might begin to feel a little more positive as to what the future holds. You might accept that things are never going to be the same again but learn to cope with a new normality, as difficult as that may be to even contemplate at this moment in time.

You tried to tell yourself that. You really did.

But try as you might, you just can't convince yourself.

I want to leave my footprints on the sands of time,

Know there was something that, just something that I left behind,

When I leave this world I'll leave no regrets,

Leave something to remember so they won't forget.

Does it sound awful to say that you hope you're right in thinking they'll miss you when you're gone? Possibly. You don't want them to forget you; a part of you is terrified to leave them earlier than previously anticipated, afraid that they'll move on with their lives and you shall become a mere distant memory. That is awful, isn't it? You thought so. You want them to miss you dreadfully for the rest of their days; that really is horrible. You don't deserve them.

Selfish.

But are you? Are you really? Perhaps you're not selfish at all. Perhaps you're just desperate to be remembered, terrified that you haven't done enough thus far to make it into the history books so to speak. You don't want to disappear into nothingness, you want to be remembered, you don't even give a damn what for.

You just don't want them to forget you.

And a part of you is terrified they will.

You're not afraid to die. You deal with death every day, after all, it's your job, it's what you do. You cut open dead bodies and you try to find a cause, a reason, sometimes you succeed and sometimes you fail. Much of the time you succeed in coming up with an explanation but fail to find a family member, a friend, anyone left behind to miss the deceased lying lifeless on your slab. There are a lot of bodies left unidentified in your line of work.

How can no one miss them? It's a question you've asked yourself a thousand times before over the years, but still you're yet to come up with a fitting explanation. How can yet another life end all so abruptly without anyone noticing, anyone coming to claim their loved one? How is it possible to wander through life without making so much as a ripple in the waters, without leaving even one solitary footprint, one teardrop of pain and torment behind them? You don't understand it, not in the slightest. Sometimes you try to comfort yourself a little, most commonly during a particularly tough case even by your standards; try to tell yourself that of course these people in your fridge have loved ones, somewhere out there. Of course they do, of course somebody misses them, although god only knows how far away they are. Somebody out there a long, long way away misses them unbearably, but something keeps them from coming forward, claiming their loved one back. Maybe they're simply too far away to know, too far afield to come running even if they did, even if they desperately wanted to. Maybe they do know, maybe they're just around the corner, closer than you think, but they can't come forward, not without risking suffering a similar fate themselves. Maybe you've seen them before, looked right into their eyes as you arrived at the crime scene, examined the body, perhaps they flinched a little in the shadows as you reeled off the physical features in death you saw before you cool and collected as anything, having been through this procedure a thousand times before by now. Maybe they care, even if they can't come to claim their dead.

You hope they care. Especially now, bearing the thought of what you plan to today in mind, what is going to happen later, for certain, no ifs or buts. You have no regrets, will have no regrets, that is; if you thought that you might then you wouldn't be giving in so readily to the demons inside your head. You won't regret this. Your mind is firmly made up.

Does it sound a little ridiculous to say that a small part of you is worryingly glad that recent events mean you get to go out with a bang like this? If you were planning on sticking around then perhaps it might be, you decide, but as things stand it probably isn't too much of an issue.

You don't want to be forgotten, that's what it all boils down to. That fear within you of turning to dust unnoticed, your memory pushed to the backs of the minds of your loved ones, forgotten within a couple of painful years. Maybe that in part explains the overwhelming desire within you to create explosions as you depart, disappear from their lives in a flurry of fireworks and chaos leaving sparks of disaster and potential in your wake, even though you know full well how badly it will hurt them? Oh god, you're evil. When did you become so evil?

You could always opt for the easy way out. It's not too late. You could fade away slowly, painfully into nothingness; suffer from boredom like no other right up until the end of your days. You wouldn't be you but they wouldn't care, the people you love, because at least you'd be there with them. That's the path they'd prefer for you to take, and you know it. You haven't asked them of course, that would scupper your plans well and truly, but it's rather obvious if you think about it. You know which decision you'd want the man you love to make if fate had chosen to deal you each the other's hand.

But you're selfish. Having your life as you know it ripped cruelly away from right beneath your feet has made you horribly, terribly selfish, and as much as you want to talk yourself out of your decision for the sake of the people you love, you simply can't do it. You reached the crossroads and made your decision days ago really, and now the only thing you can do is follow it through. No regrets. No looking back.

I was here; I lived, I loved,

I was here; I did, I've done,

Everything that I wanted and it was more than I thought it would be,

I will leave my mark so everyone will know,

I was here.

You're giving up contented with all that you've done, that is the comfort you have to take with you wherever you may go. That's quite possibly what's made this decision all the more easy for you to come to, the fact that you're content with all that you've done thus far. If you had things left to do in this life then perhaps it wouldn't have been quite so clear and straight-forward in your mind.

But you haven't. You're done, finished. You're through with it all, been there, done that, your list of things to do before you die finally ticked off and complete. It's over. It's time to go, like it or not. That wouldn't have even crossed your mind were it not for this injury you'll now have to live with, you know that, accept that well and true. But that's OK, you can live with it.

Who are you kidding? You don't have to live with it. Not really.

You never thought you'd find love, not after your first few disastrous attempts. You thought that a lover and a family were things doomed to render your things to do before you die tick list incomplete forever, god only knows how many times those horrible thoughts of dying alone crossed your mind back in your thirties.

But you're not in your thirties anymore. You're fifty years old and the last couple of decades have been everything you ever wanted, more than you ever thought they could possibly be.

There were the failed marriages of course, you can't deny that. Three of them to be precise, three attempts at happiness that ended in misery and pain for you both, each and every one of them.

At the time, you had thought you were in love.

Now, however, looking back, you realise it was never love at all.

You didn't love Oskar, not really.

You might have loved Hendrik just a little bit, though nowhere near as much as you loved the man you wanted all along at the same time. Everyone but the two of you saw it at first, then each of you began to see it a little in turn but was far too scared to confess to it in case it didn't work out, in case the other didn't feel the same way. How stupid the pair of you were.

You certainly didn't love George. He was a rebound shag from Hendrik really, a rebound shag that somehow turned into a relationship, a marriage. Looking back on it now, older and wiser with all of the life experience you've picked up along the way, you're quite frankly amazed it lasted as long as it did. You'll never, ever understand that one, and not because you've precious little time left in which to work it out.

And then you and the man you loved all along with everyone but you knowing it all along finally made a go of things. And you were happy. Fast forward until now and you have three almost grown up children, fast becoming adults and independent and not needing you, their mother any longer.

Had your babies still been babies perhaps you would have clung on for them, braved the storm that's coming your way.

But they're not babies, not anymore, not even really children. One day not so far away they'll have children of their own, they'll tell their grandchildren of the explosion their grandmother caused the day she lost all her faith in the world. Maybe one day they'll come to understand why they did it. You hope so. You don't want to be hated until the end of time.

Then again, maybe being hated wouldn't be so bad. Because to be hated is to be remembered, right? At least they'd be guaranteed to remember you were here, all of them, to remember you forever and hate your sorry guts. It's better than nothing.

Although, now you think about it, you're not quite as dead-certain as you were a moment ago.

Because you want them to remember you the way you were. You don't want them to recall you in years to come as a monster you only were in your passing, you want them to remember the person you were in life, in happiness and sadness and all the emotions which came your way.

You were here. You lived, you breathed; you loved with all your heart until your heart gave up on you. You were. That's all that matters, you were. You were here. You don't want them to forget that. You want to live on in their memories of happier times before all this, want to know you've left your mark in them. They're your children; after all, you like to think you managed to teach them something somewhere along the line. A part of you with live on in the little things they do, whether it be something significant or something pathetic and really hardly worth bothering with.

You'd like to think he'll see something of you still with him in their smiles.

That way, you might not feel so god-damn awful for leaving him like this.

I want to say I lived each day until I die,

And know that I meant something in somebody's life,

The hearts I have touched will be the proof that I leave,

That I made a difference, and this world will see.

You didn't exactly have the easiest of upbringings.

Random, you know, out of place in this mixed-up, messed-up trail of thoughts, but a little relevant you think; and you'll get to the point.

Everything was fine until your father went away, and after that you and your mother simply had to make do. Jo'burg, if you recall correctly; maybe that's what drew you into the city's clutches decades later. You hope not. You'd hate to think you were the slightest bit like him.

You remember a tough few years of late childhood, having to fight to survive on what little you had. You remember with more than a little embarrassment and shame dancing a few nights a week for a time in some sleazy bar on the promenade to keep the electric meter running. The dancing itself, the performing side of it, you rather enjoyed; it suited your character down to the ground. It was the nature of it all that you hated.

Your mother died not long after.

You had to fight an uphill battle to put yourself through medical school, qualify as a doctor, then a pathologist. You trained under a woman named Marianna Hagen in Jo'burg until one night during the bombings she went out on the prowl and never came back.

After that, she was the inspiration within you to become the best pathologist you could possibly be. More teachers, more mentors came after her, but you never forgot Marianna and her fiery determination to succeed in a previously male-dominated world.

So, the point to this tale?

The point of it all is, of course, that you know what it is to have to fight for something. You know what it is only too well because you've had to do it plenty of times before, pick yourself up from rock bottom when all hope is lost. And you've succeeded every single time; you wouldn't be here now in this mess if you hadn't. Which is rather ironic, now you think about it. God, fate can be cruel sometimes.

No, you know what it is to fight tooth and nail for something you desire. You've done it before; you could do it again if you really wanted to. But you don't. You don't want to. And that's what makes this time different.

The issue in your mind is that before, the thing you've been fighting for has always been something better than what you had before. And this time, that isn't the case. Things could get better if you give them the time they need, you know that, but they would never, ever be the same even with the best will in the world. It might sounds awful, but you can't be bothered to settle for a new normal, a second-rated normal. Not after everything you had before.

And so it's over. Finished. You've lost the will to fight on and so the battle is over, the demons who cursed you with this horrible fate victorious. But you don't care. You're handing in your notice, turning in your battle armour, retiring from the field of striving for something better. You're resigning and handing in your cards on the mother and wife front, of course, you know that and it hurts. But what kind of a mother and a lover can you be like this? It's hopeless; you know that, it's hopeless. Hence the surrendering to the darkness.

I was here; I lived, I loved,

I was here; I did, I've done,

Everything that I wanted and it was more than I thought it would be,

I will leave my mark so everyone will know,

I was here.

In some ways, your leaving this world is not that different to Marianna's. True, Marianna did not chose her fate whereas this is the path you have assigned yourself to, but there's something of a resemblance.

When Marianna passed away, something of her wilful determination to uncover the truth lived on in you. You were her protégé, you strived to be like her in life, even more so in death. Marianna taught you everything she knew, you and you alone, and you like to think you kept her memory alive within your own cutting room up until the day you were ripped from it so untimely. You like to think that she's up there somewhere, looking down, and maybe, just maybe, she's proud of you.

Like Marianna, you taught one person and one person only all that you knew.

Niks. Little Niks. You remember her so clearly the first time she stepped foot in your mortuary in Johannesburg, wide-eyed and eager and just a little nervous. You think she was scared of you at first, just as you were once scared of Marianna. But, like you and your mentor, the two of you learned to trust and love each other. You took her under your wing when no one else would, just as Marianna Hagen did to you all those years ago.

Poor little Niks, so innocent, so unaware. She'll be shocked when she hears of what you've done- they all will, but Nikki more than many of the others you suspect. She always had a wonderful ability to read the people she came across like a book- you taught her that, but as her mentor you made perfectly sure never to teach her to beat you at your own game. Of all the people you fooled over the past week, fooled into thinking you were fine and coping, it's innocent little Niks you know you fooled the most.

But that doesn't matter. You feel guilty, of course, but that doesn't matter. Because you know that whatever happens in the aftermath, she'll pass on all that you taught her to another, even if unintentionally. You know she hates people watching her work, but at the same time you know she'll make an exception for one person, just needs to find the right person. You were the same. Nikki Alexander was the right person for you.

She'll find another, you know she will. You'll live on through pathology, through work if nothing else. With every facial reconstruction will be the reminder that you were there, that you lived once, breathed once. Your mark will be left in her careful hands moulding at a sheet of clay, the justice done through the talents you taught her.

You were here.

You've left your mark.

And now you're free to move on.

I just want them to know, that I gave my all, did my best,

Brought someone some happiness,

Left this world a little better just because,

I was here.

You've done it now, no going back. You've done the deed, taken the pills and the world has long-since first blurred into nothingness. It's finally ending.

You're still aware, still conscious, you can tell that much, but not for too much longer. This nightmare will finally be over in just a few short minutes, you're sure of it. And you can't bloody wait.

You want to sleep. To forget. You're convinced you're done enough now to remind the world at least a little that you were here and to sink into the dark depths of despair no longer seems so bad. It's ending. That's enough for you.

"Don't even bloody think about it."

The voice takes you by surprise. You were just beginning to slip under when it filled your ears, shocked you, pulled you back a little.

Damn her.

Yes, it's a her. You recognise the voice; you'd recognise it anywhere, and that's what's confusing you. It's the voice of Professor Marianna Hagen.

"Are you listening to me?" Her voice is as sharp and insistent as you remember it in life, all those years ago. She's angry with you, you know that much. She knows full well what you've tried to do and she's bloody angry about it. "Don't you bloody dare, you hear me?"

Are you dead? That's the first thought to come into your mind. Are you dead and gone and passed off into the next world where she's been waiting for you, somehow knowing you were going to attempt something like this and ready to give you what you're worth. Possibly. You wouldn't put it past her.

"Come on, talk to me." Marianna's voice calms a little, her Afrikaans drawl even more prominent. "How did it all come to this, hey? Tell me?"

You know what she's trying to do. She wants to talk you out of it. You'll let her. It's too bloody late for her to change your mind now.

"I got shot," you confess.

Marianna's features tense a little. "Shit," she says with feeling in the way only a South African can. "Join the club. But not in the bloody head like me or you wouldn't be here. Come on then, tell me, give me the details. Where?"

"Thigh. Severed half the nerves, next to no chance of recovery. Permanent paralysis, that's what the bloody doctors are saying."

"Shit happens," Marianna remarks. "So let me guess: you can't face a life in a wheelchair and so you've decided to take the easy way out? I never had you down for a coward."

"I'm not!" you protest, but she waves your pleas to her better nature aside.

"Don't you try to fool me woman, you should know by now I can see right through you. Anyway, I know you're not a coward. I don't take on cowards. I took on you."

"Well, you got it wrong then," you point out. "Because I am a coward, I must be; I'm here, aren't I? I was too bloody proud to face up to never being mobile and independent again so I ended it all before the humiliation started! Haven't we established that?"

"Well, sort of," Marianna agrees. "But we both know you're never really going to go through with it. At least, I do, I know you too well. This isn't what you what, this is the shit, believe me. You're not ready for here yet, and when you are it'll be the five star place, not down here. You're not really going to do it."

"I already have though!" you half scream at her. "I'm here! I've already given up, already done it; it's too late to give me the something worth fighting for speech! It's too bloody late!"

And Marianna smiles. "Oh that's what you think? Oh if only you knew. You're not under yet, I can see it, you've still got a spark about you. Just you wait, sometime soon you're going to wake up back exactly where you were before and you'll forget all about this. You'll see."

She smiles again, a sad, lonely smile; holds out her hand towards you gently. You reach out to take it in yours but when you look for her you can't see her, not even as a ghost-like figure. She's just not there.

Now you think about it, you can't remember ever seeing her at all. You only ever heard her voice.

"Marianna?" you call, grasping in the darkness for a warm, familiar figure whom exists here with you only in your imagination. "Marianna, I'm scared!"

"Don't be scared," Marianna whispers gently, as patiently and calmly as though talking to a terrified child. "You're OK. You'll get through this, you'll see, you'll thank me for this one day. You haven't given up yet, you know, it's not too late. Listen; can't you hear?"

"Sara…!"

This new voice is unfamiliar and echoes eerily, yet somehow sounds to you a thousand times more real than the voice of Marianna Hagen. This voice is calling your name urgently, pulling you back to reality with a thump. Back to fight a battle you'd never expected to fight.

"Marianna…?" you whisper one more time, but it's too late. You know she won't answer, know it because suddenly your surroundings are light and bustling once more, hospital-like. You never left. Marianna was right. You're back exactly where you were before; maybe you always were here. You were here. You lived.

You live.

Present tense.

And with that realisation, you open your eyes once more.

I was here; I lived, I loved,

I was here; I did, I've done,

Everything that I wanted and it was more than I thought it would be,

I will leave my mark so everyone will know,

I was here.

Hope it was OK, I know it's ridiculously different! It's a one-off, I promise, it just needed to be done and this was the only way it would come out. Yes, it was the point of view of Sara from 'Home', series 13, just in case I confused you too much :P The inspiration for this came from Beyonce's 'I was here'; if you haven't heard it I strongly recommend you give it a go, it's very different to her other stuff. And rather amazing :)

Reviews would be much appreciated, just to let me know you didn't hate it as it's so different! For this one in particular, more than ever. I hope I didn't upset you too much :( And on a final note, this fic is dedicated to anyone who's ever lost someone, or ever come close to losing someone. But above all, to all my amazing reviewers of my previous fics, without whom I would be nowhere. seriously.

Love, Flossie xxx

PS. if nothing else, at least tell me how far you got before you realised it wasn't Nikki? :P Even if when you did you hated it, go on, you know you want to :P