[A/N: Wohooo, first piece in centuries >_> Any comments will be greatly appreciated since I really do need my weakness pointed out. Also, 12+ because of ... death? Meh.]
There was nothing she remembered more clearly than the hit of fresh water against her pale skin. Oh, no, lies of course. She remembered his smile, like it was engraved in her soul. But she had thought of the water, on that dreadful day. Every morning, she woke up and approached the bathroom’s sink, to wash her face; it was a simple thing, part of her routine – she didn’t even mind it any more. And in that moment, when she turned and the world appeared to have slowed down, she closed her eyes and felt the water hit her instead of the red pickup truck. She had always liked the colour red, it was fiery, emotional. A way to show things without saying them out loud. It was also the colour of blood, which quickly surrounded her, thickening her hair. Her eyes were closed and her body laid still. In the few seconds she sensed the life drain out of her, she thought of fresh water and how amazing it would feel against her burning skin.
*--*--*
As her eyes fluttered open, she turned her palms down to the ground in the hope of pushing her torso up. The world seemed alright, though, she noted, it was getting late. The sky was painted with layers of red and orange, as those tones faded into pink and then blue. It was a rather amazing sight, and she stared at it for a few seconds, delighted. Only then did she think of acknowledging her surroundings. Oh, she was in the little square just off her house. Her eyes widened with shock; what on Earth was she doing on the floor? She jumped up, and managed to examine herself now. Yes, her jeans were there. Her white t-shirt and her cardigan where there too, but they were deprived of colour. They were deprived of matter, she noticed, as she reached with her hand to fold out a few creases. She gasped and her expression yet again broke into shock.
It came as an overly bearing flash: the car, the hit and the feel of warm blood against her scalp. She heard voices as if they were tunneled out, and seething pain as never before. Then, cold… freezing, even. Her eyes were burning now, and she wondered briefly if she was able to cry. She was nothing… she didn’t exist. What was this? What was she? Her arms moved to wrap themselves around her waist, like she always did when she was stressed or confused. She found it weird when she managed to settle her hands on herself, but felt nothing under her palms: neither cold, nor warm skin. Abruptly, she found herself running. Her feet tapped against the sidewalk but made no sound. Her breathe panted and she could hear it. This was wrong. This was not true, she couldn’t… she couldn’t be dead! This was impossible. She stopped as she turned a corner and came face to face to a middle aged woman on the phone.
“Excuse me? Excuse me, can you hear me?!” She shouted, waving her arms frantically in front of the woman.
“No, no, you have to fill those out and send them to me before midnight,” the person instructed harshly, without minding her.
She reached out to touch the woman’s arm, but found her fingers trickle through it. She gasped in horror, and stepped away, breathing heavily. She turned around and started running now, avoiding any passers-by out of habit. She was soon settled on her porch and reached to turn the handle of the door, but her fingers passed it without feeling the cold steel. She took a deep breathe, and was ready to try and pass through it, when it suddenly opened and she watched as two of her neighbors, whom she had hardly spoken to, passed. She managed to slip into the house. The view was astonishing; but the worse were the sounds. She saw a lot of people, mostly family and friends, and she wandered through, staring from familiar face to another. She stopped as she reached the living room and heard the heartbreaking sobs and cries of her mother. She lunged forward and knelt by her side.
“Mum. Mum, look, I’m okay,” she whispered desperately, and she reached up to try and hug her shoulders. Her eyes burned again as her limbs passed through her mother. “Mum, mum, don’t cry,” she cried out, sobbing herself. “I’m okay, mummy, look.” She watched as her mum raised her handkerchief to her eyes, and cried out as gentle hands squeezed her shoulders. She looked up to see her brother, in the exact same position as herself, trying to comfort her mother. She noticed his sparkling eyes and the reflection on them; they were watery too.
“Jake. Jake, look at me, I’m right here!” She called out, jumping up and reaching out for him. She saw as he swallowed dryly and a single tear prickled down his cheek. “Please don’t cry,” she whispered again, kneeling by his side. She wanted no more than lean her head against his shoulder, as he would pat her head and put an arm around her like he always did. “Jake, Jake, I’m okay. Tell mummy I’m okay,” she pleaded softly, and sniffed loudly. Her lungs seemed to tighten as the seconds went by.
She watched as Jake raised his head and looked across the room, into the open door that led to the office. He seemed to wait for a view… she quietly got up, and walked towards the door. She reached out to push the door a bit more open, but stopped an inch from the wooden surface. She recoiled at the thought of the emptiness she’d feel if she tried to touch something again. She breathed out and pulled in her tummy and slipped inside the room. The last rays of sunshine danced along the floor, and she looked up to find a lonely figure by the window. His back was enough for her to recognize him; and she gasped. Her hand had risen to cover her lips. She expected him to turn at the sound, but he did not.
Her steps were careful at first, but she hurried and crossed the distance quickly. She stood at his side and examined his expression. Her best friend… her very best friend had the pained expression she had seem upon her family. She followed his gaze and it landed upon a picture frame. The photograph was of no one but herself, with a bright smile like always.
“Sam,” she called gently. “Sam,” she insisted, her eyes filling with tears again. “Sam, look at me! Sammy!” She shouted the name that always annoyed him.
She watched as his features turned into rage and he threw the frame across the room, where it shattered against a wall. He pressed his left hand against his forehead. He took a deep breathe, and then turned around and silently walked towards the shattered glass. He kneeled and pulled the picture from the wreck. Sam caressed it lightly and whispered, “Leonor.”
Inhaling a sharp breathe, she turned around. “Get me out of here! If I’m dead, let me move along!” Leonor yelled as loud as she could. She shut her eyes and when she opened them again, she was standing in her room. But it was not her room. The walls hadn’t the lavender wallpaper, though the furniture looked rather alike, except for a vanity table. She walked towards it and sat in the delicate bench. There was nothing atop of it except a small basin full of water. Her fingers dipped into it and a small smile spread across her features at the freshness of the water. She cupped her hands together under the water and then splashed it against her face. In the same moment, the mirror flickered and a clear image appeared. For a moment, she thought it was a TV until she recognized the setting she was seeing. It was the scene she had just left; it appeared, only a few hours later. The sky was dark blue and a few stars shone, though she couldn’t see the moon. Sam was sitting against a wall, her picture still in his hands. “I loved you,” he stated.
“I loved you too,” Leonor whispered back, as her eyes shone with tears. The image freckled again and she saw her reflection for a second: her hair was as smooth and brown as ever – there was colour again. The image morphed into the living room that was empty now. She watched as Sam entered the room, a few seconds later. He laid down on the couch, after settling her picture on the coffee table. Soon enough, there was the sound of his soft breathing and he was asleep, she noted.
Leonor got up and spread herself across the bed, her head still turned towards the mirror so that she could still see him. The image changed again, to her mother’s bedroom where she also slept soundly. Her brother laid curled on the floor, and he too was far into dreams. She sighed deeply. In that moment, she knew that when she woke up, and washed her face again, she’d follow the living with nostalgic love and attention.
Perhaps this would be bearable.
