The way these things are I don't think that trying harder to remember the way the chips fell when they did would make me think of any detail which you may want to read about. It all happened so fast, so fast that now as I look back at what must have really been only a few seconds, seemed to me, back then, to be an eternity. I will now though look forward to knowing what eternity is. For yesterday, at 09h24 I died.
My soul escaped my body then. I killed myself. To set myself free. And oh, the feeling of your soul as it slips like whisps of steam coming out of a mug of hot coffee from your quickly-to-become cold and lifeless and bloody body, oh, that is just something else. I floated rather quickly that's all I remember, to the corner of my room. Where I huddled myself into a crumpling ball of fear. Away from my body that's all where I wanted to be, I couldn't bear to look at what I had done. But huddled there in that high corner, I didn't have that epiphany I had sort to achieve moments before. Things still felt the same actually. Bummer.
And now I am here, the day after I died I have returned to my house. I floated down from the heavens, doomed to live for eternity in a place between either heaven or hell. I don't know which is worse though. Not being sure where my soul will end up, or the waiting that someday I'll know and it won't be the answer I'm waiting for. But here I am now. In our old house.
I'm at the top of the staircase now. I'm floating down. And now I'm in the kitchen. I can almost picture the Sunday mornings we spent together. You making pancakes and muffins, and me reading the Sunday papers in my pyjamas. It's a scene I had come to miss in the many months since you left.
I remember your smile, I remember the sound of your hands mulling though the dough, of the way the wooden roller bumped and ground upon itself as you flattened the dough. I remember the smell of warm muffins and hot coffee, and melting butter. But most of all I remember you.
I remember the touch of your hands, the warmth of your smile, and the way your eyes reflected the sunlight. Of course, I remember many other things about you too. Things I'd rather forget. Things like how I hugged you and held you close and promised to you that we'll get through that thing together. Things like how I watched you slowly whither away and lose control over yourself as that thing spread. Of course, by the time that I finally realised that I would lose you forever it was too late. It's strange how weak we are made to feel when armed with the strength to reverse the course of nature that sometimes our best is not enough. That sometimes there really is nothing we can do. I'd rather forget how you told me to be strong. I'd rather forget how I know you told me so but it I was who saw your own sadness drown out your fear of dying. Of entering the realm of the unknown. Or knowing that I'd be alone. Why is the world such a harsh place?
Today I am here, in this house. To catch a glimpse of you. I am sure that while coming down the stairs I had brushed lightly against you.
There are strange people in our house today. I want to tell them to get out, but my voice is mute to their ears. I want to tell them to leave this house alone. To leave. I want to tell them that today I am here, in spirit form, awaiting your return. I want to tell these people to leave us alone. But my voice is mute.
My voice went mute months ago actually. And so did my eyes. I went blind to the sun, blind to the moon, I could smell no more. I could no longer smell the roses in the garden I had promised you if you got better (a silly idea if I think about it now). I could no longer feel with my skin.
The strange people in in our house they say that I died yesterday. But they don't know the truth. I died the day you died. And yesterday was simply my way telling the world that I had, that I really had, no longer a need for my body. I wanted to be set free of the limitations of my body, a body which existed in a world other than the one you find yourself in.
I wanted to be with you.