Name: Astatine_Bind
Group: Monarch Butterfly
URL: =D
Prompt: Haunted
Word Count: 429
Entry:
Was this how it felt like? To die peacefully on your deathbed, feel the serenity of you last moments?
The silence envelopes me. . . Am I sleeping?
My being tingles, and I draw in a deep breath. I'm waiting, savoring the chance to reflect. My mood sways one way to another,
how did this happen?
It's not important anyway.
I exhaled. The crickets stop chirping. Not a sound, save for the ticktock of the clock. I counted the seconds,
one, two, three. . .
I was alone, much to my disappointment. To be surrounded by family and friends was just a empty wish, too late. Alone in life, alone in death.
Seven, eight, nine. . .
The moon shines through the curtains, my only spectator. Will I be lost forever if I leave now? What's my legacy?
I pray to be remembered.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.
A light breeze caresses my cheek, and I suddenly think of my mother. So gentle, delicate, and pale. Her loving murmurs, tender hugs. Will I see her again?
I had never seen sadness until she died. Was her death just like mine? So quiet, peaceful.
Soothing.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two
On the day my mother passed away, I was to be alone. The inconsolable grief that day was unbearable. She was hit by a drunk driver, left to die out on the road.
Was she content? Happy, even? Or was she worrying about me the whole time?
She was so silly, why care about me when you're the one who's hurt and broken?
Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven. . .
Can I prolong this feeling? The leaves rustle outside. Through the crack my curtains made, I surveyed three simple stars. The moon was no longer there.
A dim light, cast by the sky and nearby street lights, streamed into my room.
Forty, forty-one, forty-two. . .
Slowly, tears built up in my eyes, threatening to fall. The simple melancholy drew out harsh and brutal emotions. Slowly, the drops slid down, one by one. I was livid and vengeful, emotions welled in my chest. Why did she die? Why do
we die? How could we be separated? She was my mother, I needed her.
And she needed me. We were always dependent on each other, we were never ready to let go. But we had to. Nothing but specks of dust in this world, we were not important.
Sixty. . .
My heart slowed, my anger diminished, once again replaced buy a tranquil state of being.
My eyes were drooping, closing. It was harder to breath.
My smile was bitter,
'This is easy. . .' My wrists no longer hurt, my release is near.
Sixty-six. . .
Finally, I close my eyes, and ascended to Paradise.
[. . . I feel stupid for asking, but there isn't a entry fee, right?]
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