A/N: As I'm not a native speaker, be so
kind and ignore my errors.
My beta means it's a
depressing fic and although I regard my story as one about redemption and deep
love, consider yourself as warned.
And I still hate this site for messing around
with my layout.
Content: (Experiment.) She. He. And the thin line between
the living and the dead.
Crossing borders
(for Ms. Schmalisch, may you rest in peace)
(He sits at the edge of the bed. No lights are lit – they wouldn't fit in to his mood. She stands in the open door leading to the corridor – unseen.)
Sometimes I wonder if he died.
Maybe … maybe I'm dead right now. I don't feel anything.
(His hands are folded.)
He looks so tired.
I can't sleep. I am afraid of the sleep. Closing my eyes just leads back in time. I don't want to go back – too painful.
But there's not only pain, you know. Remember the good days. The days we spent together, our hands entwined. Not fearing the night because we were together. Not fearing anything because we knew we had us.
I know there were good days, only I can't remember them anymore. They have faded – like all the good things in my life. Vanished – in just one moment.
Not everything ended with me in this moment. Good things last.
(From somewhere the sound of a shower reaches him – you can hear nearly everything through these walls. He closes his eyes.)
Your scent still lingers in this room. Lilac with a breeze of summer rain. Some day it will vanish like everything else. I dread this day. Then nothing of you will be left.
Except the beach ball.
Except your breath in this stupid beach ball.
It's not stupid. It took me nearly half an hour to blew this thing up. And you laughed that day very often. It was fun to watch you. I love to watch you laugh.
(He arises.)
Where do you go?
(He leaves the apartment. Closely followed by her. He still can't see her.)
Maybe I'm going insane. Sometimes I can feel your presence. Tonight is one of these times.
You're not insane. You're a scientist. Not used to see things behind logic and evidence.
And I talk to you – even though only in my mind.
But I can hear you – even if my mind is the only thing left in this world.
(The sidewalks are deserted.)
I want to move. There's too much that reminds me of you in our apartment.
That's why you threw away so much of my things. It hurts too much to look at them – to remember. And you don't want to remember. Neither the good nor the bad times.
I just don't find anything which seems right to me.
Perhaps you anticipate that you will never find anything which seems right. You want to find me and of course you won't find me. After all, I'm dead. And the deads can't be found.
Maybe I won't move.
And continue looking at the places on the cupboard where once was a picture of you and me.
(Suddenly he stops.)
You didn't know where your feet were you leading?
I didn't want to come here.
But you do it nevertheless – nearly every night.
(He leans his head against the fence.)
I miss you.
I know.
(She touches him. Her chin resting on his shoulder. Her hair brushing his cheek.)
I have to be insane. I can almost feel you.
You're not insane, just hurt. And sad. And tired.
They haven't even find your body.
And believe me, it's better that way.
I buried an empty coffin.
But that doesn't matter to me. Burials are for the living. So they can bid farewell. You didn't - you couldn't.
(He closes his eyes again, not wanting to see the hole in the city.)
I don't know what to do without you.
I know it's hard. I see you struggle everyday.
What, if I fail?
You won't.
(He opens his eyes – stares at her. Not surprised. Not afraid. Just sees her.)
And where did you get that from?
I'm your wife. I know the strength you carry in your heart. And I know your soul. You won't fail.
I love you.
(She smiles.)
I love you, too.
Will we see us again?
I have no doubts about this.
(His breath forms clouds in the cold.)
You have to let me go – at least for now.
(Silence.)
Farewell, my love.
(A kiss in the dark.)
I will wait for you – I promise.
(He cries - alone.)