Written by Cecile and Marie Grace
Cecile and I wrote this story for our assignment in our writing class. It may not seem like much, but any comments would really help us! - Marie-Grace
She stood near the empty windows, behind her, only the pale white walls of the surrounding room. The sounds of the crowded halls were no concern to her anymore, devoid of any details, she herself, was torn between the ends of time. Searching to find any faith, which could be handled by the healthy grasp of her hand.
The health; no longer shared by the being, the friend, the love.
The companion whom had lain in that bed for so long now, too long it seemed. Her lips parted only momentarily, releasing a hopeless sigh into the contaminated air of the cubicle. Turning, her gaze immediately fell to the boy. A year older than her, well almost. He had been born eleven months earlier than she; eleven months, two days and sixteen hours. Such trivial words, holding no meaning, such as the purpose of a name. Only a name could be so useless. To be known by a name, no more to be known by a soul, the thoughts which swim through a very mind. Plastered to a person, always having to remain in the cage of a name. So many things could be upsetting, deceiving as that weakening, frail body that had laid down to rest.
His breathing, deep and shallow, gasping with every rise of his chest. He had looked good for the past few days, but sick. A person, any person could feel that very sickness flow through the blood of his veins. Feel it reach out, strain to touch to the next life force, the very essence to survive. Many people wonder about the meaning of life, never able to find a conclusion, the desired answer. “People are born to die, and those who die are reborn.”
Where had she heard that? No matter. It was there; she would not spend her time searching for the source. The gaze of the azure oceanic depths of her eyes then fell upon the illuminated luster of the silver flute which had been set aside. Stepping across the floor, her bare feet padded silently, causing no sound to wake, or interrupt the man’s slumber; finding it hard to wonder herself, if that slumber would become eternal. No. She could not think of such things. She had to have faith. It was all anybody could have in such situations. The pathetic excuse for something to hang onto, grasp onto with all that you could imagine, your feelings, your heart and your soul. The slender structure of her fingers wrap and curl around the lengthened cylinder. Raising it to her lips her eyelids drop, just before deciding to play she seems to freeze, something of paralysis. Thick lashes held down to the dove flesh of her complexion, their touch vaguely resembling that of a butterfly’s wing. Not even a single note had been touched upon, no tender flutter of remote comfort, music, sweet music, which could cause a person whom had stumbled to the end of their will, to carry on. A weak groan had struck the eerie silence held in that room, the silence that had draped itself upon the two, seeming to be forever. It had stung to her body, as though thorns from a flailing rose had penetrated the very skin of her limbs. Her rose flushed lips parted, allowing a rush of air to be released, eyelid’s fluttering open to view over him, over Bran.
His gaze had been fixated upon the features of her face, for how long? She did not know. A slight smile was tugging to the corner of his lips, an attempt perhaps. For it did not succeed in its proud dance across his expression. She offered the subtle motion of her lips as well, an attempt on her half as well, but who could smile to such a sad view. Her arms lowered from the grasp of the flute, and she placed it back to the table where it had been settled once before, digits extending so her grip could be faltered. There eyes met, and for that one moment, it seemed as though time had froze, that each step which was set to be taken, had stopped in mid stride. And for that moment, it seemed as though the two rarest of souls connected to lap as one. Each breath that was sucked into his body, and each rush of air that had seeped back into the room, was too precious for words. And that is why none were spoken. They both knew what had happened, and they both knew what the outcome would be, what the conclusion was. Some explain those moments, to be when your life is detailed through your open sight, how everything blacks out, except those special memories you hold dear to you. Maybe even the memories you wouldn’t suspect to be anything but trivial nonsense. For that moment… two friendships, two bodies, and two beings, could suppress their deepest desires, wishes, thoughts… to focus on what lay before them. And that was each other. They were not lovers, but friends till the end.
Perhaps she, herself, had not known that since the beginning, but Bran may have, and that is why he had did what he had done. Nothing could turn back the hands of time, no gesture, or halt of warning could be squeezed through into those mere seconds.
To both, they knew this was goodbye. Yet no tears were to be shed. Only breathing unleashed to be taken in sync. For the only time that it were not to be shared, was when one heart would cease to beat, one chest would cease to rise, and those eyes… those eyes would become glazed, blackness descending to shield their sight from the world.
Many moments passed after those minutes. And it had to make you wonder. Was there a life after death, for those whom were both pure and violated? Evil and good? Was there a god, or a Lucifer? The spirits, which were to believe, held within the vast sky and above. Or did you simply not function, to be lain in the confinement of the shell of your own body, and that of elemental properties. Julia hoped the best for him either way. And she hoped that whatever his beliefs were, they would come true. For each individual could have his or her own wishes of how life were to end. But the meaning to life, such as many other things, was simply ambiguous.