Healing Matters of the Heart

A soft breeze blows a few strands of hair across my face. They are like probing hands, searching, exploring all the contours of my face. For a moment I wonder what they find there, but I am reminded that they are simply dead. Like much of the world below me. I look down from the hill on which I stand, and see the forest floor covered in layers of ash. To my left is what used to be the town where my family and friends live… well, lived. Now all that is to be found are the grey and white specks left behind by the volcano that caused all of this. That buried these people and their lives. The lives of the people I once knew and cared for. Who will remember them when I am gone? Who will tell their story? For a moment I believe that is why I am alive. Why I survived, why I am still here. To pass on their story and let the world know they existed. That they were flesh and blood, and walked among the living. That they had families, lives and people who loved them. But I know this is a lie, only meant to comfort myself. I managed to survive by luck, and there is only this before me. This black, dark, barren world and the death that surrounds it.

I walk down the burnt hill on which I stand and I hear nothing but silence. Dreadful silence. No birds chirping, no animals bustling about, and no river bubbling and babbling along. Even the sun has gone, along with the life I used to know. I trip and fall, stumbling over my own feet. I finally right myself and keep walking. While I walk, I start to cry uncontrollably. My sobbing racks my body and I am choking on my own tears. My sobs are the only sound in the forest, or what is left of it. I step on something, losing my balance, and fall, hard. I roll down the rest of the hill, but I simply pick myself up and keep going. I am on a mission now. Searching, hoping to find a survivor like myself. I know I will find nothing, but I cannot stop, cannot give up on the hope that I am not the only one. That I will not have to suffer through this pain alone. That fate may bring me to find another person still breathing.

I arrive at what used to be the town and I dig in the ash, sometimes burning my hands, but I keep searching. I am crying again, refusing to believe that I am the only one left, the only one to carry this burden, and once again I wonder, why me? Why am I the one left to mourn? Why couldn’t I get the easy road and die? No more worries, regrets. No more feelings of guilt. No more pain. But that is all I can see, hear, feel and taste. Pain. So much pain. It's as if I am consumed by it, and when it becomes too much to bear, I feel nothing. The pain numbs my limbs. I am shaking, but I don’t stop digging, looking. Deeper and deeper, faster and faster, with more fervor, more determination. Out of the corner of my eye I see something moving by the beach, but I ignore it and continue digging. When almost all the skin has burned off my hand, I feel someone lift me up. I peer through my bleary eyes to discover who it is, and I see the strange, but kind face of a young rescue man. As he carries me in his arm, I notice him traveling somewhere, though I can’t imagine where. Strangely, I am unafraid. With all that I have been through in the last twenty four hours, this seems almost normal. All I can think, while he carries me to place I don’t recognize, is that they are too late. They were too late to rescue anyone else. I wonder why they didn’t warn us that this was going to happen. Why didn’t they come earlier? I was too exhausted to be angry, but I just could not understand why they came now. There was no point in coming to rescue me.

All the emotions that I had been feeling, got the best of me and the steady rhythm of the rescuer’s steps, lull me into the nothingness of sleep.

I awake to find a glaring light in my face. My heart beats quickly; I don’t know where I am. This place is much too… clean. I realize I am in a hospital bed, with the plain white walls to match. Then it hits me. All that has happened. The volcano. My town. My home. My friends. My family. My baby brother. I feel a familiar pressure settle itself over my heart.

I hear a click and the swing of a door and then footsteps. Large, heavy footsteps. A man’s footsteps. I see him, in a white overcoat and I assume that he is a doctor. “Hello,” he says. “You have been asleep a long time, but that is normal given you circumstances. What is your name?”

I stare at him. I cannot seem to find my voice to tell him my name. I open my mouth and a strange, sad sound comes out. My throat feels raw and unnatural. Quickly, I shut my mouth and close my eyes. I re-open them slowly, taking everything in. The potted plant in the corner, the door leading into the hallway, a bathroom to my right, along with a window where I can see tall buildings. There are pictures hanging on the wall, an attempt to brighten up a boring room. I see the doctor, looking at me patiently and sympathetically. Again I tried to tell him my name, but an unseen force stops me. I couldn’t speak. After everything I had already lost, I could not believe that I was losing my voice. The only line of communication I had to the rest of the world. Maybe, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. I mean, did I even want to communicate with the world? Maybe this was a gift, a way for me to escape from the world, which right now, was exactly what I wanted. I felt my fear ebbing away into the numbness once again. Was this how I would feel now? Just so empty?

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the man in the white jacket looking at me expectantly. I turned away from him and shut my eyes, blocking everything around me. I heard him sigh and the door open and close. I knew it would only be so long before he was back and asking me questions that I wouldn’t answer. For now, he left me to my memories and I was content with that. Sleep again claimed me.

When I awake again, this time the memories come flooding in and I find the world all too overwhelming. I wanted desperately to fall back into dreamland where everything was good and whole, and not wholly broken. I can feel the tears stinging my cheeks and wipe them away before setting my head against the pillow. However, sleep will not come to me now. My body is not tired, though my mind is in no shape to be functioning. There is a tray of food next to my bed, but I don’t touch it. I simply stare at the hospital walls and the posters there explaining how to properly wash your hands, and not really seeing any of it. There is just the video that seems to be constantly running through my head. My mothers face, me sneaking off to someplace I wasn’t supposed to be, all alone. I understand now that this is my punishment for disobeying my mother. Being the only survivor, that is what I will pay for my crime. This time the tears do not come. I will accept my penance with good grace, and I promise myself that no one else will have to suffer the same fate as my loved ones. I am a curse, and I will bar myself from everyone left in this world. I could not bear to be responsible for anyone else’s death. I had enough blood on my hands.

My thoughts are interrupted by someone walking into the room. I turn, expecting the doctor, but this man does not look like any doctor I have seen. He is wearing khaki shorts and a blue t-shirt.

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Ok, so, I know this is a really bad place to start, but I just sort of started writing this out of the blue and this is as far as my imagination took me. This is the first story I have ever written and I was just wondering if it was any good, and I should continue or if it just really stinks. So let me know what you honestly think please! Thank you!