Sirens wail in the distance like mewling cats, sounds impregnated with tone and mourning; which sirens, I am unsure, and it strikes me that it has been months and months since that last plunge into society, wondering if it’s changed much. Wondering if it’s still the unfortunate same. Drizzle outside seems sad, and dims my mood further, a steady and slow pinstripe in front of the thin world outside. A hand leaves a foggy print on the window, no words have left these lips for months. Let them think me mute; it’s easier to do so. Eyes follow the play of shadows in the wet air: birds, bugs maybe; the crossing paths of all make a twirling menagerie of lines; the lines, ominous shapes. All of it seems unreal, completely unattached to the body which is so far removed from the mind. I remember the living functions outside, the breathing and pulse, but acknowledging them is unnecessary. Music reaches my brain, an electric guitar struck slowly string-by-string, leaving no question to which note was being played. Further unhappy, but feet move to reach, knees bend, hands turn knobs, and suddenly the notes can be questioned. Lots of notes pushed together so that the filter in my ears have to work to separate the different notes. The wail of sirens has faded out for a while now, leaving all the noise of outside and music untainted by that mourning; still, my mood does not brighten. It seems to grow dimmer, instead. It should’ve been me, it should’ve been mine, and I should’ve had it. She didn’t deserve it, ever, I deserved it. I had done so much to deserve it, and she knew it, and she took it from me, saying, “It’ll be alright.” Was all I did worth so little? She did not deserve so much, and yet she took it, and smiled, and acted like it would be alright. If I had known, I would never have… It should have been me there, smiling, in that gown of spring green, it should have been me with rosy cheeks! I should have been there, smiling, assuring, laughing like there was nothing wrong! It should have been me! All those people circling around me with every attention focused, every eye on me; every touch and smile should have been mine. Every attempt to send them away, weak hands, should have been mine. Her face in my eyes summons tears, and I look away, feet tapping quickly, arrhythmia, not mixing clearly with the new rain tapping on the sill outside my ears. Why is she the one who caught it? I could have just as easily, but didn’t, and why? I deserved it more. I’ve done more to earn it. I’ve done more to catch it, but she did. Is this some lesson about life? No matter what you do, you don’t always get what you deserve? Is this some divine punishment, in some way? I mean, I deserved it more. I had wronged more people, wronged myself, why did she catch it? That terrible disease that would kill eventually, no matter what, and she did nothing to earn it. Why did she have to die of cancer? I hate carnations and roses. They smell like her room in the hospital. |
Submission Name: I Deserved It; She Didn't
