The Cemetery (short story)

The trees softly shhhed in the light spring wind, air damp from a recent mist, which spoke to the heavier rains to come. Clean stripes of grass stood untouched for a day or so, flattened only slightly by the sky's quiet crying, mud and leaves dotting only the bases of mostly pristine grey and white and black stones, wet to the color of dry concrete, of slightly dulled dark granite.

Names proclaimed clear even with water upon them.

Only a single human presence had existed in the place for days. The only one to take through the wrought iron gates with its elaborate script declaring the entrance's purpose. One would possibly deem it fortunately that only a single individual had visited the cemetery for an extended period of time. That no more than one had reason to visit, reason to openly show his or her grief. Although one individual could not maintain the entire location on their own.

No matter. This single figure, always dressed as though another had passed since he or she since last visited, which was usually every couple of days, held enough as the sole individual who had visited in the days there were no burials.

He, or she, never seemed to arrive when any other was present. Stopping at each place which held someone else's grave.

Inside the mind of the figure, were unforgettable images.

A beautiful teenage girl filled with all her dreams and desires and hopes, her wishes and regrets, and her slender hands on the wheel, and the slip from her control, the tires of her vehicle squealing and the car spinning then twisting...

The figure saw the family at the church, the grave to the ground. Her brother questioning God, her parents overwhelmed with grief, all extended members asking why.

A couple of 85 and 90 dying in a nursing home, having had only one another for years as they struggled, but not unhappy in their last days. Their children and grandchildren and even the younger, visiting them that last time, in the cemetery, considering all the time they didn't spend with their parents, descendants wondering the same.

By the stone that read of a single day of life, brought the scenes of blurred vision and never understood anguished sounds, then an entrance into his parents' forlorn minds, both losing more than they could have ever predicted in this infant's death.

An eternal twelve year old's resting place brought scenes of never-known violence at the hands of his peers, older and younger, male and female, his last breath in the shed behind his family's home, and all the thoughts of him after.

A man of 45, otherwise healthy, whose heart suddenly gave out as he began his morning jog, his wife left in shock, whose life began to consist of only solving the mystery in trying to forget her grief.

Every gravestone gave a new story. Every name, every family. The figure stopped at every one, although there were hundreds in place. Soldiers and children, men and women; selfish, selfeless; human, each had been. At the end of the trek, the figure placed their palm on the ground of the entrance, and the cemetery seemed to glow from each individual place.

The black cloak of the figure fell, revealing the faces of every person whom had entered, living or dead, each image revealing an expression of both grief and joy, of horror, shock, numbness, anger, while showing wonder, contentment, bitterness, resentment, forgiveness, kindness, cruelty, on the many faces in one.

Each felt his or her fog rise from the ground and find its sky, where rain began to pour. And the figure disappeared.

Sunlight-NANOWRIMO (Chapter 13: "If")

Chapter 13: If

Present

Had it not been the time that it was, had he two not been mostly alone, there would have been more around them, but in spite of the time, there were still a few obvious young and older others milling around the grounds among them, upon the many walkways, emerald trees sprouting tall from emerald grasses, new and old buildings seamless in their places. A few students wore evidence of sunbaths already, some were still studying, others were returning to their homes outside of here, all weaving in and out as the spring semester had come to its anxious end. Underclassmen were relieved, upperclassmen filled with their next expectations, whether it was to continue school or to begin lives outside of this organized education that had taken up their lives for many years.

All wore similar expressions of relief or joy or fear or frustration. All were on their way to their next destination. Amira stayed ahead, leading him down a well-maintained, and entered a building into a similarly well-maintained hall, through a few more hallways; it seemed her dorm was buried deep within the recesses.

“Oh, hey, Amira. You’re back already?” a tall, fit young man said lightly. Damir noted the change in Amira’s expression as he approached, as well as his expression, one of such captivation, for the young woman before them. It was subtle, in his eyes, not perverse, but one of enamor, in awe. He wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t felt it on his own face many times before.

“Ha, just really eager to get back!” she replied, just as light, just as smiling.

“Damir, this is John,” she said. “John, Damir.”

“I believe I’ve heard a little bit about you. It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you, Damir,” John replied, extending a hand, politely. He thought back, strangely, to meeting Amira’s father, that expression; the survey which came with a handshake.

He reciprocated, not caring whether his answers were the ones John wanted to hear. He understood that they weren’t the ones he wanted in the first place.

“Well, it was nice to see you again, Amira. You know Marie and the rest of us will be visiting your town in a few weeks, right?”

“Yeah, I think I remember her mentioning something about that…”

“We should meet up, perhaps.”

“Sure. That would be nice.”

“Great. Well, see you then.”

“See you then.”

Amira seemed to pick up her pace as they wandered onward through seemingly endless halls, while Damir lagged behind, unsure of whether he wished to catch up or not.

“Sorry,” she murmured, pausing ahead of him. He came just behind her again.

“You seem happy here.”

She looked at the ground.

“We’re almost to the dorm,” she said, quietly, taking his hand and continuing down the hallway.

 They stood before the entrance, and Damir stood outside of it, as she took one step in.

“You can… come in… with me,” she said. He followed once more.

He entered, as she brought him to her other room. There were two single beds near the ground, and one upper bunk with a desk underneath. Amira seemed to have assumed the single one furthest from the window.

Mostly, the place seemed uninhabited.

“I’m almost the last one to leave. But the other girl shouldn’t be here until tomorrow. I just have some… um…”

She grew suddenly quiet; there were dark sleepless circles underneath her eyes, mirroring his own. She took a seat on the bed, on neat purple sheets, staring at the desk ahead of her.

Damir felt himself succumbing to the exhaustion that had plagued them even before this travel… but he knew there was not an option for this, as he watched Amira stare.

“He’s right there, Damir,” she whispered. “I… I know he’s not, but… well… the… the desk…”

“Where is your…”

“My car. Somewhere in the back.”

Still whispering.

“I’ll… I’ll go and…”

She nodded. He saw beyond the simple movement of her head and neck, he saw her eyes; she didn’t want him to leave. But Liam couldn’t stay, and they both knew it, even if it would take hours for him to go. He’d known that this young one had been with them for the past few days, in spite of all that had been advised three years ago. But she hadn’t wanted him to leave, not as much as everyone else had.

Damir rose to take the long hallways again. It might be hours, in unfamiliar surroundings, in the dust storm of sleeplessness and grief and silent, silent envy the shade of the perfect trees outside. It was this that he despised himself for feeling. Yet it existed all the same, friend to sour bitterness, drunken resentment. Emerald, tempting envy.

And all that had accompanied him before.

The paths seemed more elaborate on his own. Yet he now recognized the necessity of determining his destination on his own.

At some point between parking lot and some wing entirely unfamiliar, he met up with a single familiar being.

“Oh, hello. Damir, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You alright? You seem a little lost…”

“No, I’m just, um… taking in the place, you know. Looking around.”

“Of course. Are you considering attending?”

“Um… maybe,” he feebly lied. “So. You’re… uh… Amira’s friend.”

“Yes, I am. She’s a really great person, really passionate about what she does. So much insight… care for the earth. It’s really great.”

Damir found himself suddenly wondering of this person’s age. He pressed down all that he wished to do to respond to him. The unspoken archaic competition he felt had been entered between them.

“Yeah. Well. I’m going to keep… um… touring and such.”

“You do that. Is there anything in particular that you wanted to see? There are some classes still going on.”

The immediate distrust of his helpful tone burned like a sip of an unknown liquid.

“That’s fine. I’ll find everything… fine. On my own.”

“Alright. Well, I won’t be far. Just let me know. Nice seeing you again.”

“You… too.”

He continued to wander until something, anything, seemed familiar, gradually navigating to the place where he and Amira had started. He found that her vehicle was still conveniently unlocked, and he quickly began his search. The world of her single psychosis was little to what it could have been, they had seen this to be true. Yet it was enough to require the routine instated now, medication for something which was somewhat rare for a child, which was when she had begun to see him.

She’d understood, and he’d known that she understood the moment that he meant her. She, too, had lost something once perceived as infinite, immortal, invincible. Someone, in her case. She, too, was afflicted by the immensity of the bitter poison of guilt which ate within the two of them.

He found the small canister of pills which had become her and her parents’ solace over the past three, nearly four, years.

Damir began his trek back to the room, cautiously, clumsily, navigating the endless hallways to bring this double-edged savior to the young woman who awaited it. He wondered what she really believed of these things, attempting to put away his own thoughts of his previous experiences with such things. Strange how one seemed to remember all he or she wanted to forget, and forgot all that he or she wished to remember.

There was that night, of course, that they’d fallen asleep on their park bench, with the sunflower drooping, and the near-fall sun rising, giving pinkish color to the small city skies.

A very prominent part of him longed for that simplicity. Those small few moments before they awoke with simultaneous alarm; a new school morning’s arrival. A terrified couple of parents, officers on a search for her.

He wondered what they would be like if they’d never had the experiences in which they had. If they had never lost.

Long ago he had deemed such thoughts to be extremely indulgent. Yet he indulged, at least for this moment. Eventually, he arrived at Amira’s door once again.

He could hear her, ever so softly murmuring, through the crack of an opening on the door. Had he not shut it entirely?

She didn’t often speak to, or with, Liam. She described him as being mostly silent… that he didn’t like Damir. Cautiously, he pushed the door the rest of the way open.

“Would it be alright… for me to come in?”

She hardly seemed to notice him, glancing at him, in near surprise. It had been quite a while. Somewhere between fifteen minutes and an hour.

“Oh… I… I don’t know…” she said, quietly, absentmindedly.

He poured out the correct dosage for her; just one, as this was a powerful drug. He’d seen the changes in her after she’d begun the regimen. Barely touching her, he placed the pill in her palm.

“Just… just a little while longer,” she whispered, meeting his eyes this time. He nodded, and looked out her window. The moments passed, and she swallowed the pill, still staring at the desk.

The two remained in silence, staring intently at what once had been.

And slowly, they laid down once again, quietly consumed by their own loss. They held each other, regarded one another with such longing, for a life as it never would be again. Even as they moved forward, a piece of the old would always follow.

“I’m sorry… for leaving…” Amira whispered, eventually, her eyes shut as she tried to sleep.

“I had no… I shouldn’t have gotten so… worked up and…”

“Don’t…”

“I just…”

“We’ll need to pack up… more… when… we wake up again.”

“I know.”

“Okay… I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

                “Amira! Oh my goodness, Amira, don’t ever run off like this again, oh my God, you had us so worried!” her mother exclaimed as she wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter, her father joining them soon afterward. It was clear by their concern that Damir had done something profoundly wrong. His parents were probably wondering of his whereabouts as well, but not enough to call the cops on him…

                He detected a slight glare from her father, or, perhaps, near-homicidal glare, was a more accurate description, as they arrived at the bench. Amira had come of her own volition, she’d explained. They had not done anything questionable, save for falling asleep on a park bench with little to no reason to do so. He explained the same, before returning home to his family.

                Nothing seemed to have changed from the previous day…

                If they had never lost…

                “It’s alright, we’ll just keep on trying… come on now, we’ll go back to your room. You don’t have to do this again until tomorrow.”

Movement had never been a struggle before. He was accustomed to lightning speed and even breathing; the only pain was representative of something good, signifying that he'd worked as hard as he should have. Determination, concentration, organization, all of it, his constant routine, had gained him strength. This was no longer so. He knew that he had a lot more than others. He still had all his limbs, a mind mostly unaltered, even the simple promise of some sort of recovery in regards to walking. There was great lot he could still do on his own, many somethings that most took for granted.

He had seen his own parents struggle with several of these things. He had witnessed the battles of the others in the hospital. 

Yet they all still had their varying hassles and torments, all the result of single catastrophes like mountains crumbling, creating avalanches which led to more avalanches. Eventually, one would believe the once-light snow would simply cease from falling; instead, it piled and piled and crushed houses and villages, knowing no end to its destruction.

A select few became the inspirational, ever-repeated miracle stories, those that were supposed to represent the possibility of all who had faith and hope. Still others made it far enough that whatever circumstances caused them to be known as “survivor” became just a fearful story of their past.

And for some, the ambulance entrance to this hospital would become the moment they entered another person’s life.

For the Paxes, Damir had thought, the lives they’d worked for, believing they’d been built on stone, had been shattered, splintered, and swept away by a storm of screeching tires, scraping metal, and shattering glass.

And he watched it every night.

If they had never lost…

“Mom?!” he shouted through the bathroom door. She had just gone in to take a shower, after fumbling with an old camera, after attempting to paint, but feeling ill from its scent… ever-frustrated from her hands not doing as she asked them to. She had stormed unsteadily to that room, shut the door… Damir and his father believed that perhaps it was good. She wasn’t screaming, wasn’t tearing up the house. Perhaps she could just wash off the paint… call to one of them politely when their presence was necessary. They’d known the unlikelihood of such, so they’d remained outside. She shouldn’t be left alone, they were told.

And the tell-tale thnk of a fall had echoed behind the closed door.

It took several minutes, too many minutes, to break it open… his father had already called, each recognizing emergency when it occurred; there were times when one tried to handle a situation on his own, and then times when such was impossible.

She didn’t look like she had slipped. Simply dropped.

Still. Chillingly still. Her eyes were closed, and the water was cold. The knob wasn’t even turned toward warm.

They said she had likely meant to turn it warm. They said she’d slipped, hit her head again…

But later they “concluded” something else.

Never lost…

She had made the water cold  because she hadn’t cared, he knew. One particular medication had been depleted, and even trembling hands had known exactly where to hide it so it would not be found.

If they had never lost…

The paintings had less red than before. They were less precise, but clear in message all the time. He knew without her telling him how much she could not stand it anymore. She had always seen her demon apparitions at night, in the day, even. She had always shouted at him, always whispered of him, always quietly hid away from him and all of them before. He knew the reasons why she could not enter the military or ever complete her classes that she tried; he knew why she’d gotten up in the middle of the night to do the violent paintings, and why she wrote the things she did and why he never saw her parents.

If.

“Daddy, what are those?” he said, gesturing toward the orange container in the high shelf behind the bathroom mirror, as his father stood preparing for the morning.

He quickly shut the cabinet, taking several moments before finally replying.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Damir,” he replied.

“Mommy takes them out sometime.”

“I know.”

“Is she sick like you?”

He noted his father’s face suddenly darken.

“No… no, she’s not. We have… different… sicknesses. I think it’s almost time for school, Damir. Why don’t you get on your shoes?”

“Okay…” he mumbled, perplexed.

Never lost.

They had never been like other families.

What if they had never lost.

Silent and still, frozen, cold… she had known she would be cold.

What if.

Even small, he’d seen her try to put the past far away. It followed her more now than ever. The bitter words and fiery jabs of new and old hurt seethed within her, unable to be poured out as she wished she could. The anger and frustration, the silence and the hiding, were not new, but dragons resurrected. The cloudiness of drugs, the loneliness of misunderstanding, only heated lava, made it rise.

If they had never lost.

Still and cold, short curls wet, closed eyes with no peace…

               

                He saw her face in everything; he saw her again when the doctor told him what they’d discovered, the thing he already knew.

                They only told him.

                He didn’t tell his father.

                What if they had never lost…

                The man had been working so hard; he had been applying for work, he’d been to interviews. He spent time online searching for work, outside the house searching for work. And he’d been inside watching her. All he did was for her; Damir saw it in his eyes. He had learned over many years to respond to her… he always knew how to bring her back, in some way. Before, at least. Even after, even when she nearly struck him, or when she wouldn’t sleep, or even when she would… he never left her side.

                And he still looked at her the way he always had.

                That awe, that admiration, that comfort, with compassion and empathy, understanding and affection. He had not been one to always reveal emotion, but he had always looked at her in this way. He managed to suppress frustration with her. He’d used all other time that he had to help her, to remind her of what was good, what remained. He was always gentle with her, but always honest as he knew she wanted him to be.

                Even after all that had happened, he was still so full of love for her. Everything he did, it was for her.

                If they had never lost…

               

                But Damir did not even have to tell him how she had truly left her life in order for him to stop as his father had. Life was not merely on pause, but it was merely an ending on a disc, scratched so severely that this last piece was all that could play any longer. The end on repeat. Both were lulled into sleep, for weeks.

                They could have starved and gone with her.

                Instead, they lived three years longer.

                It was dark when he woke. But it was not night; outside the window were tall rectangular shapes of grey or brown or silver, against rolling, dark slate, illuminated by an occasional static light.

                Damir turned from the window.

                If they had not been this way, Amira would likely be happier; she may have never seen a presence that didn’t exist or no longer occupied the earth as they knew it. She would have the friends she once had; perhaps she would have gone to another school, either a better one or another. Her priorities, perhaps, may have been different.

                It didn’t matter if they related to one another from the terrible things they’d experienced. Amira would have never had to face what she had; she would have never turned in on herself the way that she had. And Damir would have gone on for longer without collapsing… he would have found something solid to hang on to, outside of high school, and perhaps his parents would keep moving, but eventually settle down enough to face the ghosts that they ran from.

                Perhaps not. But it could have been that way.

                “Would you mind turning up the song, Damir?”

                He did.

                “…Oh please don’t drop me home, because it’s not my home, it’s their home, and I’m welcome no more.... and if a double-decker bus, crashes into us, to die by your side, is such a heavenly way to die…”

                No one saw them coming.

                How could that song have played when it happened; it was ominous now. At the time, it had simply been an old and angsty love song that his mother had sometimes liked and sometimes criticized. Something he’d heard the two of them sing jokingly years before, seriously other times. Like they believed every lyric.

                But all lights could go out sometime. And they often did.

                They were his life. They had shaped his life from the moment he existed, from the second they last breathed. And they were molding it still, and shaking, lonely hands were reach out to take him home with them.

                He wanted them to be better now, if they were gone.

                Cold and still and silent…

                He hoped that they were happier now, now that they had escaped this agonizing existence. But they could be empty shells all the same; their “souls” could have gone with them. But perhaps absence was better than the constant knowledge of pain.

                Amira awoke; she also gazed out the window, before turning toward him again.

                Thunder cracked behind them.

                She put her arms around him again.

                He watched her hold him, so close and warm, such concern and knowledge in her eyes. He moved closer, but the young man knew he that all was unwell.

                “You looked upset…” she whispered. “Right before you woke up.”

                The young man nodded, turning away from the girl again.

                The room flashed a distressing blue, before fading back to the color of sunless dusk.

                “It’s storming… we’re probably not going to… leave… at least until tomorrow.”

                The young woman faced the desk again, away from the young man.

                Leaving the town seemed to have little effect on what his mind offered to experience.

                “Damir?” he heard her ask.

                “Yes?” the young man replied.

                “Nevermind…”

                “What?”

                “I don’t know…”

                “Okay.”

                The young man seemed incapable of telling her anything of this. Slowly, he forced himself to stand. He watched as he stood at the side of the bed, the young woman still lying down.

                “What do we need to bring to your car?” he asked.

                “It’s raining, Damir…”

                “Well… later.”

                “Just these sheets… some more clothes,” she said, yawning.

                “A few other things…”

                “Okay. Where are they?”

                The young woman stood as well, and began unloading an organized closet, placing things into a light blue tub just beneath the shelves.

                “Did you garden while you were here?”

                She nodded.

                “Yes. I helped with maintaining the greenhouse as well. There was… an organization in town, also… I helped with planting as well…”

                “That’s awesome.”

                “Mhmm. I liked it.”

                “So… you’ll come back next year.”

                Another nod.

                “How are the courses?”

                “Great. Some were very challenging, but I made it. John… tutored me, in calculus.”

                “Ah.”

                First in silence, he helped fill the bin.

                “You can leave the sheets for now.”

                Their conversation was very intentional… only grazing the murky surface of what laid beneath. But neither liked to pry; nor were they very passionate about small talk. Instead, photo frames were placed gently in their particular places, as well as small packages of seeds contained in organized spaces.

                When they were finished, the room seemed more than uninhabited; it looked untouched, all except for the lavender sheet on the bed closest to the door. Rain pelted the windows, and thunder seemed to tremble from the ground to the sky.

                “Do you want to see anymore of the school?” Amira quietly inquired. Damir shrugged.

                “Sure,” he replied.

                Although the hallways were clearly illuminated, it seemed the unstable darkness of the storm outside had filled them just as well.

                “The library’s just down this way,” she said, leading him in the direction of a quiet and elaborate room; it seemed more like a large personal study; two students silently occupied a single table, the only sound made being their pages turning every few moments.

                “Spend a lot of time in here?” Damir whispered.

                “Yeah.”

                He brought to mind the young man just down the hall, standing nonchalantly with his own textbook. It was unlikely that he was a freshman here...

                “The English Department’s out this way…” she said, taking him to the door to the outside, gesturing down the path.

                The couple stepped out into the rain; it seemed that all others had vacated, and wisely so. They wandered down the frequently worn paths, Amira occasionally pointing out few buildings of note, as the rain continued to fall without stop. It was a strange storm, uncommon in its combination of relentless waterfall and equally unending thunder and lightning. Neither was transient; it was the sort of storm that could flood the streets, and the kind that the local warning systems would warn of turning unexpectedly into a tornado. The rain was also strange in its temperature… it was not cold, but a sort of lukewarm.

                Amira’s and Damir’s hair was stuck on their faces, dripping, though they wouldn’t be able to tell. The young woman’s dress clung to her frame, and the young man’s clothes did the same, the bottom of his jeans soaked as the water began to puddle. They continued to tread in silence, one with storm sounds, and content with theirs being the only human presence on the outside of their gated educational world.

                Eventually, the young woman stopped before a small, somewhat opaque white-tinted dome.

                “This is the greenhouse,” she said, like an introduction.

                “Can we go in?” he replied.

                Amira nodded, pulling out a surprisingly dry plastic card, with her clear face and name. A scanner took her identification and the two entered.

                The world within was sticky and filled with different shades of green: emerald, pastel seafoam, deep evergreen, as stems and leaves of all different sorts of colors. Of bright golds and continuums of ruby and magenta, lavender, creams and pinks. They seemed to grow from the ground, the walls, even the ceiling.

                Intoxicating floral scents occupied every corner, seemed to fill every orifice, dominating even the sunny white lights. 

                He couldn’t decipher the meaning upon the canvas, as he stored it away. They would have sold them, but it didn’t feel right. They should have displayed them, but they were always expressions of pain, not joy; bursting with creativity not from a free spirit, but one that had been broken, one that needed to show herself on the outside, lest the bruises be ruptures in vital organs and not clear bruises on her wrist.

                Yet they still did not make sense. They never had. It was abstract, he’d always understood this, strokes of various color for various purposes. Beautiful, but disturbing. The picture of the man… she had burned it one night, when she’d believed that her husband and son were asleep.

                In the backyard, at four in the morning.

                He’d never understood her fully. Now that she was gone, he would never ask. He could never ask back then, either.

                A single framed photograph of their family, once deemed “too cliché”, had been the only one displayed upon a table in their oft-unvisited home. His mother had smiled brighter than he’d ever seen when this picture was taken; his father’s smile seemed genuine as well. And he, being the gawky pre-teen that he was, was at least trying.

                It was cliché. It was their only Kodak moment, in a five by seven frame.

                He set it aside.

                “It’s… amazing… in here.”

                On the side of the road, the flowers, driving home from James’s party… the many others he’d seen driving by…

                The green of the grass, bright, bright, summer green… screeching, as the metal crunched in, the glass shattered, three bodies matching the outside of their car, but not dead… not yet…

                “Damir, are you okay?”

               

                He glanced down and found her hand around his, her eyes having admired their surroundings, then turned to him in concern.

                “Yeah… yeah, I’m… fine…”

                This was not familiar, a body he knew, it felt as though it was in pieces, tearing, more and more, with every tiny shift, and he saw her, still, so still…

                She squeezed his hand, trying to see into his eyes.

                “Why don’t we go back?” she said. The rain clattered against the panels of the dome, making it seem louder, smaller, so much smaller… closing in.

                The walls had quickly closed, knocking bones into shattered pieces, snapping some in two… the sudden, horrific stab of agony…blood covered white through flesh…

                He cringed, staggering forward, almost involuntarily.

               

                “Damir?!” Amira said, alarmed, grasping his hand tighter, and straining to pull him back up.

                They weren’t there, in the room, and he couldn’t see them, they refused to allow him to leave… torment tore through him.

                “Let’s go back.”

                She pulled him close to her again, her arm around him. He pulled away, and she led the way out again.

                The rain was still falling steadily. Whatever had dried from the two within the greenhouse was quickly replenished by the sky’s water. The thunder cracked louder, and the lightning appeared to be capable of reaching their very beings.

                Damir sped up.

                “What’s wrong, Damir?” Amira called, struggling to chase him down.

                He did not, would not, could not answer.

                The thunderous, echoic impact to the ground…

                The door was before him.

                She had shouted, uncontrollable, long black curls wild with her every move, and he, for once, had shouted back. She’d shoved him, knocked him to her splattered floor, and stormed off to her room.

                What was inside? Was there anything better inside…?

                She came back and cried, apologized, so many times… he did not say a word, until late that night. Damir was supposed to be sleeping, but these walls were thin.

                “It’s okay,” he had said. “I know you’re… dealing with a lot… right now.”

                He could hear her tears still falling, endless apologies, and then her footsteps down the hall.

               

                “Damir!” the young woman called, over the sounds of the storm.

                His fists were around the metal handle, pulling with all his strength, to absolutely no avail.

                Amira hurried to place her id in the slot above the handle. The door swung open, knocking both to the ground, now pooled with rain.

                “What is wrong?” she screamed. “Talk to me… please!”

                The young man remembered pain, and he recalled navigating his way to the young woman’s car, retrieving her medication; as if that were the only solution. It seemed to be her solution.

                It trembled as it spun, shook, collided, slammed, twisted into the ground…

                “Damir…”

                That small hand on his bare arm.

                It reached for his hand again, took the other, brought him back to his feet.

                “Come on,” she whispered, bringing them inside again.

                Hospital doors, familiar chairs, familiar desks. Uniforms. He couldn’t force himself to say it, knowing it was simply too true. Woman at the computer.

                “Soren Pax… we need to see him.”

                The words choked out like dust, as if he’d crawled through fire, as though he were about to collapse.

                She had brought him to the man’s room.

                “Okay…” he whispered.

***

                There were no other clothes for Damir to change into. The one bright presence in the room had claimed she could retrieve some for him, after changing her own in the bathroom down the hall. She would just run to the store and be right back.

                The storm was somewhat milder, but its level of intensity had only changed so much.

                “Stay here,” he pleaded. “I’ll be alright…”

                “No, Damir, you can’t just… you’re soaked… I’ll go… It’ll only take twenty minutes, fifteen maybe, it’s just a ten minute drive…”

                “No. You should… you can’t… you can’t go out like that, in this… this storm, this weather…”

                He had taken off wet shoes, socks within them, and placed them just beside the door in Amira’s room.

                Damir stood in a single place near the door, attempting to minimize the amount of dripping that occurred.  The entire arrangement was not ideal, but nor was Amira’s running off to a store in the middle of a wild flash flood storm.

                She placed her hand upon his shoulder now.

                “I promise you… I’ll… I’ll be fine.”

                He wanted to trust that those words were true, that he would see the blue of her eyes, her face, her hair pulled back the way it was because of the rain, to hear her speak again, to know she cared as much as she did… but he simply could not.

                “Don’t, Amira… I… please…”

                “I promise,” she whispered again, embracing him gently, before taking to the door. He grabbed her wrist, because it was quicker than reaching for her hand.

                “No, Amira. Don’t… don’t go out there again.”

                “Damir,” she whispered. “Please... I promise, I’ll be safe, there are other people out there right now too, and…”

                “If you turned on the radio right now, I’m sure you’d hear…”

                “…if it crashes into us… to die by your side, is such a heavenly way to die…”

                “Damir!” she shrieked, just as he swerved out of the way, down their wrong lane, out of control, the other driver only able to gasp, breath stopped for a second, watching helplessly.

                Twisting, out of control, sky blue above them, then the green grass below… crumpling metal… shrieks and the sound of a soccer ball filled with lead hitting a house wall, cracks among shatters, snapping… windshields and dashboards too close, reduced to shards and tiny mosaic pieces, to grey unidentifiable…

                “Damir, please let go of me,” she said, her voice reasonable.

                He shook his head.

                “You can’t go out there.”

                “You’re soaked… you could get sick…”

                “It doesn’t even make sense, Amira, you shouldn’t… I… I don’t need… more… clothes…”

                “The floor looks like the window was open while we were out…”

                “Amira. Do not do this.”

                “I have other some other things I need for tonight, and the storm’s letting up anyway, I…”

                He gripped tighter.

                “Damir!”

                The young woman struggled out of his grasp, taking her own wrist with her hand, examining it carefully, surprised, clearly thrown off.

                “Stay here,” she muttered under her breath, eyebrows gathering as she quickly slammed the door shut.

                “Dad…”

                He was there, he was alive, they were alive. But she was still, so still, and the red was running down her other cheek, against the window… it was no longer a single piece, but contained a dent; it appeared it had been broken and glued back together in the exact impression…

                Breathing… how could they be breathing? Every breath came like a tall wave of fire… he shifted so slightly, and more waves pierced through him, the sight of all turning to two…

                Below was the image of something agonizing, which he could not feel, not yet… the sanguine warmth from all where it should not be… the ivory snapped, covered in its blood and fluid, peering out jaggedly, with the rest shattered like the window glass where he could not see it… when he did see, his breath left him once again, waves of torment, waves of horror, passing over him… two of them? One…? His head throbbed…

                Blackness came for moments, and then he returned.

                She was shaking beside him, broken body trembling, noticeably, slightly.

                He cried out hoarsely, fire, more fire, more ache, in the pit of hell, the three were in hell, he knew it… there was no fire, but he felt it within him, without…

                The sky was still blue, through the roof, the webs of windshield, the grass tall and green…

                Dark again.

                He found himself trembling, curled on the floor, soaked with rain and sweat. How could he do this. How could he… he was fully responsible, and he’d come with her, he’d brought this here. She could go too. This could happen to her, she was gone, she had walked out the door.

                Damir forced himself up again, opening the door.

                “Amira!” he shouted down the hall. No, no, she was gone, she…

                She just went to the store… she just went to the store… he tried to tell himself. But he didn’t trust it; the roads were as soaked as they were, as the paths they walked down. He had killed his parents, and because of this, because they’d been out there, he was out there, he would… she would…

                He forced himself back in, cringing at the thunder. He turned the knob to close the blinds, and sat by the wall, by the door, in the darkened room. He was doing this to her.

                He had no one else, but he would ruin her. There was her bed, right near the door, and her boxes unpacked to some extent, with clothes for tomorrow. She had one, maybe even two, roommates. A friend who tutored her… a someone-more, perhaps.

                And there was that world where he’d ruined everything for his entire family. They had not been so damaged before. They had been capable of speaking, of even the horrific things that they would prefer to forget. Had they not?

                “How did Daddy get sick?” he asked her; she had a young face back then, though every adult seemed about the same age to the child at this time.

                “Well… a… a few years ago, he… well… he was… we don’t really know for sure.”

                “Why not?”

                “Well, Daddy was in a place with a lot of different people… and… a lot of people got sick. But he’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

                “How did they_”

                “Do you want to go get some ice cream? I would really like some right now. Come on, let’s go, it’s warm…”

                “But_”

                “Let’s go, Damir.”

                She took his small hand and led him out of their house, into summer air.

                Perhaps they hadn’t, but they did not strive to keep secrets from him. And when he struggled in his youth, he could talk to them.

               

                “It’s really great that you have this passion for soccer, Damir. I’m proud of you.”

                “Well… um… thanks. But uh… I just… I was wondering. Since we’re not moving too far way, could I just finish out this year on this team? I think they can do that, and…”

                “We’ll try to work something out. I think your mother might be able to drive you.”

                “Great.”

                The skinny tween began to walk away, unsure of how to proceed in the conversation… there were always other things on his mind, but he could never bring them up so easily.

                “Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”

                He turned back around, faced his father.

                “Yeah. There’s this… friend… of mine, on the team…”

                His mother gave great answers as well, when he was willing to approach her.

               

                “And what do you think of his decision, Damir?”

                “I don’t know, it just kind of seems like a poor decision. He could really get screwed up doing things like that.”

                “Well, you know, it’s not really our place to judge him. But I’d say you should really try to listen. I’m really happy to see you taking interest in people around here, Damir. I’m glad you’re making friends.”

                “Thanks.”

                They paused to look at her newest photograph of their newest home.

                “Do you think it fits?”

                He nodded.

                It was a small corner, just glancing into a window, and through that window, was another, which spotted the tree just outside.

                “That’s perfect.”

                Perhaps they were not conversationalists, but it mattered not. Perhaps their decisions were ruled by work. And perhaps their identities were rooted in old wounds, stitched up many times, but always bursting at their weak black seams, only to be torn messily open by a mere few seconds of their lives.

                The storm raged on outside. He could hear her, see her, still, as he was tormented by every single potential situation for her, as the minutes passed in her absence. And within… that sour, sour piece.

                She had left before. While he watched his father die.

                Her life had infinite meaning, purpose. Potential.

                He knew this. She was already outliving the “if”.

                And she would, with or without him.

                “Dad… Dad, you need to get up. We have a lot to do today…” he said, sitting beside his bed.

                “ Not today…” he murmured, not facing him.

                “You have an appointment… and… what about that interview?”

                “Interview.”

                “Yes, you… you had one today.”

                “Cancel it. Both of them.”

                The man on his bed opened his eyes groggily, but they seemed deprived not just of sleep or waking hour, but of life and will.

                “We can’t just… not…”

                “Damir. Call them… please.”

                “But_”

                “Please.”

                He shut his eyes again, his only desire being escape, when sleep was not sufficient. There were so few ways of obtaining it.

                It would be unfair, if he said this. Horribly unfair…

                “She would have wanted us to move on.”

                He saw the man’s fists clench, reflex at pain, saw the waking in his face.

                “Please… Damir. Don’t do this to me.”

                “It’s… true…” he whispered, swallowing saltwater.

                His father sat up in his bed, shook his head, taking it in his hands.

                “It’s been weeks…”

                “Does that matter? Will it matter whether it’s been seconds? Hours or minutes or days, or months? Years?! Does it actually matter how long it’s been? She’s gone, Damir, how can… anything matter anymore?”

                She was gone. How could anything matter anymore? He could have said that they still had each other. That there was still work to be done. That they had lives to continue, that living on in her honor was what should be done…

                Instead, he walked out of his room, trembling. He picked up the phone, and dialed the number for his father’s once potential employer.

                “…Soren Pax regrets that he will not be able to meet with you today… understandable, sir… thank you for your consideration.”