Title: Death
Rating: P.G 13
Disclaimer: Characters are original.
DeathHeather Johnston walked along the street, dragging her schoolbag unenthusiastically behind her. Three weeks; that’s all she had. Three weeks to write an essay that counted for fifty percent of her overall grade, on death. How was she supposed to write an essay on death? “Write from the heart.” Her teacher had said. How could she? She didn’t know anything about it. Everyone in her family was alive and well, and she had never been to a funeral before.
She opened the gate and walked slowly up the path that led to her new house. She hated it. It was one of those old, Victorian houses, that you could tell by first glance was haunted. Her father had bought it two months ago, and they had moved in the week before. She didn’t understand why they had to move, after all, their old house was only a few streets away. But her father was adamant that the house was a blessing for them all, a fresh start he had said. Heather knew her father better then he thought though, and she guessed the house was some oversized gesture from her father to her mother to make up for a fight they had had. Most people, of course, receive flowers or chocolates after a fight with their partner, but not her mother. Her father ran three companies, and made millions every year. Heather often wondered why; if money was so great, she was so unhappy.
She decided to take a look around her back garden for the first time. It was huge. She would have loved to play in it when she was younger, but she was sixteen now, and it just looked boring. She walked deeper into the garden, and as she came nearer the bottom, she saw something sticking out from under a pile of old leaves. She wandered over and picked it up. Whatever it was, it was in bad condition. She examined it closely and realised it was a book...a diary in fact. After three failed attempts, she finally managed to get it opened at the first page. She walked over to the new, rather expensive, bench her father had bought and sat down to read the book.
Date: 31st June, 1899
It happened today. Liam’s funeral. It’s odd; I know it’s happened and, I know it’s real, but I just can’t seem to believe it. Yes, he had been ill, but he was getting so much better, recovering day by day. Then he was gone. Just like that. From the time it takes you to tie up your shoelaces, my husband had died. “He felt no pain”, Dr Robertson had said. What does he know?
It was his body…his mind. No-one knows what my husband felt or what went on inside his head. What if he had told the Dr before he went he was feeling no pain, when inside he was hurting so much that the only relief was to give up and die? So many questions in my head, none of them I can answer. Why me? Why my husband, why now? The word death meant nothing to me two months ago. Yes, you are saddened when you hear of the death of a friend, neighbour or distant relative. You offer your sympathies and say how sorry you are, and then you forget. In fact, in a few days their name means nothing to you. Because you don’t really care about them, you care about yourself and the ones close to you, the ones whose souls have become your own. They are the ones that matter. And now, the other half of my soul is gone. My best friend, my partner in life, my everything, my soul-mate, is dead…in the ground. I hate him being alone in the ground, I had never given burials another thought, but now… What is the point in making someone lay still forever? Why not just place them somewhere and leave them to see if they get up soon after and go to where they most desire? I’m being ridiculous, I know. I’m just not thinking straight.
How long has it been now? Days? Hours? Minutes? I don’t know. There is so much to think about. Why didn’t I plan something? In the back of mind, I could have had a plan, and maybe now I wouldn’t feel so lost and alone. It’s not just the children I’m worried about. Of course, they miss him. They cry and they mourn, but still they are able to laugh about the good times. I can’t. I can’t remember the last time I smiled. What have I got to smile about? People have told me that life goes on, how can it? How can it go on when the one person I want to share it with is gone…forever. Will I ever see him again?
I have thought about ending it all. I wish I was dead now. The pain is unbearable, all the time. Every moment that I am conscious, I am dying inside, and every time I’m asleep there is a voice telling me in the back of my mind that, no matter how much I want him to be, he won’t be next to me when I wake up. Life is meaningless now. I have to live like this every day until I die. If it weren’t for my children, I would have ran outside and hung myself the minute the doctor told me. I don’t just miss my husband, I don’t just love him, I need him. We are two halves that fit together; you can’t have a jigsaw with half the pieces missing can you?! No, so why is he not with me when he is meant to be? Why do all the evil creatures you read about still talk, and walk, and breathe, and my beloved lies covered with dirt in the ground?
I can’t’ keep going over it. ‘You’ll go insane’ the doctor said. I didn’t listen. I owe him nothing, he couldn’t save Liam. I have to remain strong for the children though. I mustn’t let them see me grieve. They have their whole lives ahead of them, just because my life is over doesn’t mean theirs are.
It’s getting late now, I should be in bed. But I won’t sleep, I never sleep. Sometimes I dream when I am awake though. I dream of Liam bursting through the door and sweeping me up in his arms and telling me none of it is real. Then I hear a noise that brings me painfully back to reality, and the hell that I live in. The world is such a cruel place sometimes. Before he became ill, I had everything I could ever have wished for, a nice home, three beautiful children, and a husband who I loved with all my soul, and, who in turn loved every part of me.
They say it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.
Is love really worth having when you know it will be stolen from you, and that every day afterwards will be non-stop regret of things not said and done, and guilt that it wasn’t you who died, and sadness that you will never be able to do all the things you had talked about doing together, and tears for all the things you have seen and will see in the future that he won’t. Is it really worth it?
Of course it is. I got to be the one to know him, to love him, and to be loved by him. I was his wife…but what am I now though? Am I his wife? Am I married, widowed, single? What will become of myself and my family? I pray to him and talk to him, but he never answers me. Perhaps he can’t hear me, perhaps I can’t hear him. I wish I could. I will never exist properly until the day I hear his voice again. Nothing in my life will ever, ever be the same again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Heather sighed and closed the diary. That was the only entry made in it. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She couldn’t believe how clueless she had been about death, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine what the woman who had written this went through. She carefully put the diary in her bag and walked through the garden and into her bedroom. She knew exactly what to write in her essay now.
THE END
whitewiccan
"Oh, I really love your scarf!" - Amber Benson.
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