A/N: I'd like to thank everyone involved (honestly, I don't remember everyone I showed it, so let's stay with 'everyone', you all know who I mean), especially Lynn and Sammie. I thank autumn and I thank my muse.
Disclaimer: Still not mine...
Warning: It's character death and it is not. If you are not sure, just don't read it. It's complicated but... hm, if you don't like sad stories, please stop here. Okay?
To ev'ry breath of wind unmov'd her hair;
Her cheek still red'ning, but its colour dead,
Faded her eyes, and set within her head.
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, VI, 303-306)
Sitting in the car, I keep my eyes on the horizon. Always the horizon, the promise of a better world, a better life. A world where they will understand me, or at least take me for who I am. Where I don't have to pretend, where I don't have to put on that mask and smile. My finger taps on the steering wheel, a rhythm I can't define. I haven't seen a sign of life for almost three hours. I look at the bag on the passenger's seat, the bag with my life - or what's left of it. Two pairs of trousers, three shirts. A loaf of bread, a thermos with coffee, probably cold already. A framed photograph, though the frame broke when I put the bag in the car. I still haven't collected the splinters. The leaves are falling and bunches of golden leaves are lying on the asphalt, disintegrating when I pass them.
Runaway. Where to?
A drop of rain falls on the windscreen. I look up at the sky and notice the clouds. They are dark and grey, with a tendency to green at the edges. The sun can't be found in the sky. I suddenly feel cold, and a little scared for the first time since I decided to leave it all behind. I never actually liked thunder, and I can sense that the weather is going to turn soon. A second drop, which I wipe away with the windshield wiper. I temper my speed when I see a place to park my car.
I pull the handbrake and remove the key. I look at my watch. Will they be looking for me already? Will they have noticed that I'm gone? Would I be on the local news already? Will my photograph be in the local newspapers? I sigh and take the bag on my lap. The first thing that I grab is the photograph, together with a sharp splinter. I pull my hand back from it, look at my finger. A little red line, slowly growing. I place it in my mouth, taste my own blood. I try to pick the picture again with my other hand. I hold it, both hands, each on a side, leaving a bloody partial on the right side.
The view of the life I left behind does not ease me as I expected. In fact, I feel an undeniable sad feeling, spreading through my body. My family I don't have anymore. Dead. My little girl. My mother.
Two burials at once. Too hard to carry for one person.
I am alive. I breathe. My heart is beating. I'm tired of it all.
I pull at the picture and at the top of the paper; a small crack starts to tear the picture into two parts. I want to break it and ease my mind, soothe my pain away by breaking what I lost.
I rip it into pieces, open the window and let them fly in the air, like seeds of a flower. Sixteen parts of my life, fluttering through the world. Like their ashes.
I watch them while the wind takes them. All in a different direction, though one of them flows to the back of the car, like it doesn't want to leave me. I reach to the back of the car, pick it up from the backseat and look at it. The sight leaves me numb; I haven't felt anything since I got that call. And I don't even know if I am able to feel anything anymore.
Too much seen. Too much pain. Too much hurt. Don't want to feel anymore.
A flash of light, followed by a blow of thunder seconds later wakes me up from my thoughts. Close, too close. For one moment I want to run out of the car, but then reason takes over me again. Outside is vulnerability. Is danger. I close my eyes, lingering to the backseat, thinking a little about what I have done. I don't regret what I did. I just had to get away.
From the memories left there. My home. Everywhere they have been, I think of them. Everywhere I came, everyone reminded me of them. In the way they said my name when I entered the room. Every time they asked me if I was okay. The hands on my shoulder.
The emptiness of my house. The whispers of the wind, in which I heard their voices.
Everything.
I didn't want their sympathetic smiles. I didn't want their whispers behind my back. I never asked for their empathy. I don't need it, I'm not broken. That's what I try myself over and over again, at least. I'm not broken because I don't want to be.
I'm so sorry… we weren't able to save your mother. We did everything we could, but she died of blood loss, caused by severe trauma to the abdomen. Your daughter has been taken into surgery.
Thousands of questions I wanted to ask. How? Why? Chances? And all I could do was nod. One single tear slid down on my cheek, but I wiped it away. No time for crying. Must be strong. Can't be broken. Can't fear. Must be strong.
Must be strong.
Suddenly, a very loud noise covers every sound the world around me had. It takes me some time to figure out what happens. Hailstones, as big as marbles. I inhale deeply. Thoughts flood on my mind, but there is no time for fear. I have to stay in the car.
The windscreen is covered in white stones now and I'm turning cold, I don't know what reason causes it, maybe a collaboration of inner and outer-coldness. I close my eyes for one short moment, whispering words to myself.
"Don't have time to be afraid. Don't fear."
With the windshield wiper, I try to wipe the hail away; it doesn't help much though: new hailstones cover the window immediately.
By instinct, I grab the door-handle when I hear a loud sound of breaking glass. I run out of the car, covering my head, watching the damaged windscreen, roughly broken by a branch of a tree. I run to the forest at the side of the road, to seek protection. The wind is messing with my hair, waving it before my eyes so I can't see anything anymore.
Pain. All of a sudden, I fall down. Everything hurts. I try to protect my head, but I can't move my hands. Black spots are dancing.
There's a noise in my ears. A high tone I can't deny, combined with a dark sound drumming through my head. I open my eyes but close them again when I feel something very cold dripping into it.
So cold.
And pain. My body is screaming, I don't even know where it comes from but if I open my mouth to gulp a breath, I taste blood.
I need to get up; I need to get away from here. I try to leverage myself with my hands, but I don't even feel them anymore. I am pressed down against the ground, something cold and heavy on my chest.
Can't get away.
That thought creeps under my skin and I feel panic raging through my body. Must get away, must leave, must stand up, must be strong. Move, yes, move leg, just ignore the cold, must find a way. Mustn't think. Mustn't feel pain. Yes yes yes, doing well, must stand up.
My feet… don't feel my feet. Don't feel my hands. Do feel my head, heavy heavy.
I give up.
The heaviness on my chest makes it difficult to breathe.
Can't get away. Panic I can't control. Help, yes, scream for help. I open my mouth. The sound I make doesn't sound like a scream at all. Too soft. I gasp as much air as I can and try again.
No reaction. I'm all alone.
They are going to look for me, I'm lost, and they will find me. Lost and found. Just have to wait. Just live. Just breathe.
Yes, breathe.
It is getting dark around me. Even though my eyes don't seem to work anymore, I sense it. I don't know how long ago it is since I fell down. Could be minutes, could be hours.
All I know is that I am losing conscience. It terrifies me.
It's slow. I notice it in the short moments I seem to miss. Waking up from some dreamless blackness. I'm scared. And still cold. I swallow again, but it doesn't help.
It doesn't hurt anymore. At least not as bad. Numbness is spread through my body. It's getting harder and harder to breathe.
Waiting is long and I am tired. Tired of trying, of living. I want to sleep; I want this to be over. They are not looking for me, and even if they were, they would be too late.
Too late.
Lindsey. Flashing in my mind. Dancing, dancing in the light. The light. She's turning, stops and looks at me. Smiling, without saying a word.
Is this a dream? I don't know, but I can't open my eyes anymore. Too tired.
She calls me and I look at her again. She walks away from me, her hair in the wind. The sun is shining down on her. Her head turns to me one last time and with a smile on my face, I follow her. I don't know where to.
It's going to be okay.
Okay.