Original fiction! Liek omg!
Jun. 3rd, 2006 06:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sapphire_childTitle: Reflections on Death
Summary: as the title suggests.
Authors Note: I wrote this ages ago but never posted it. Very angsty, dark, emo, all of the above. Enjoy!
~*~
A daughter stands next to her mother, holding an envelope in her small hand. It is for the dead man in the box – a final goodbye from someone who never really knew him in the first place.
‘Can I go yet?’
‘No not yet. I’ll tell you when.’
She places the envelope on the box herself, her mother’s hand on her shoulder, and the priest says something to the congregation about her letter that she’ll never remember anyway.
She’s only five years old.
~*~
A woman crumbles against her daughter as the full impact of the news she’s just heard hits her and they cry together, holding each other for support. They go to the viewing together and the woman smiles a little when she sees how beautiful the girl looks in her ballet shoes and the pink dress she made for her.
The daughter doesn’t want to be touched by her mother and yet the mother clings to her, repeating a mantra over and over as they approach the tiny pink box.
‘It’ll just look like she’s sleeping. There’s no need to be scared.’
Why would there be any need to be scared? The girl in the little pink box, the young woman in the little pink box is completely harmless and the daughter knows it. She stares down at her face for a long time, so pale and fair against dark curls. Her head leans against a satin pillow so it looks like she really is asleep, her pale hands folded.
She realises that her thumbs are double jointed – she’d never noticed before.
The funeral makes her sad, as she sits on the floor and listens to songs that the girl once smiled and danced to. She filches tissues from other people when she runs out herself and feels a little guilty for having not known this beautiful girl any better when she was still alive.
Looking around she wonders if she were to die, would there be this many people at her funeral to pay their respects? To say goodbye to her?
As everyone leaves the chapel, they place a pink, paper angel on the table that the casket is resting on. Inside it, an angel sleeps, never to wake again.
~*~
A room is filled to the brim with people crying. The oppressive forces of guilt and suicide press in from all sides until the girl sitting towards the back only wants to stand up and run out of the room, to run away from this terrible, mass grief.
Around her, people sob, but there is no bitter sweetness or gentle faith as there was at the funeral she went to last year, that of the girl-woman who was an angel. Instead there is only sad, dark sorrow and quiet snuffles of regret.
When the boy’s friend did the same thing the year before, the girl in question retreated into the room with the piano after they had been told and there she played a few notes, quietly to herself, tears falling onto the ivory keys for somebody she didn’t even know.
This time there are no tears and this time, she actually remembers who it is she is meant to be sad for.
She returns to the room with the piano later that day, the room that he used to frequent every day for almost five years – although despite this, she never had any direct contact with him. Nearly every person who comes through the door is crying but she just sits there silently and waits until the allotted fifteen minutes is up and then leaves.
~*~
A young mans body falls to pieces on a television screen and a young woman watches and cries.
Another man falls to pieces using only words on a page and the same woman reads and cries.
She sits alone in the silence of the afternoon and listens to her favourite sad song and wonders how many people will be at her funeral and how they will remember her when she’s gone.
Summary: as the title suggests.
Authors Note: I wrote this ages ago but never posted it. Very angsty, dark, emo, all of the above. Enjoy!
~*~
A daughter stands next to her mother, holding an envelope in her small hand. It is for the dead man in the box – a final goodbye from someone who never really knew him in the first place.
‘Can I go yet?’
‘No not yet. I’ll tell you when.’
She places the envelope on the box herself, her mother’s hand on her shoulder, and the priest says something to the congregation about her letter that she’ll never remember anyway.
She’s only five years old.
~*~
A woman crumbles against her daughter as the full impact of the news she’s just heard hits her and they cry together, holding each other for support. They go to the viewing together and the woman smiles a little when she sees how beautiful the girl looks in her ballet shoes and the pink dress she made for her.
The daughter doesn’t want to be touched by her mother and yet the mother clings to her, repeating a mantra over and over as they approach the tiny pink box.
‘It’ll just look like she’s sleeping. There’s no need to be scared.’
Why would there be any need to be scared? The girl in the little pink box, the young woman in the little pink box is completely harmless and the daughter knows it. She stares down at her face for a long time, so pale and fair against dark curls. Her head leans against a satin pillow so it looks like she really is asleep, her pale hands folded.
She realises that her thumbs are double jointed – she’d never noticed before.
The funeral makes her sad, as she sits on the floor and listens to songs that the girl once smiled and danced to. She filches tissues from other people when she runs out herself and feels a little guilty for having not known this beautiful girl any better when she was still alive.
Looking around she wonders if she were to die, would there be this many people at her funeral to pay their respects? To say goodbye to her?
As everyone leaves the chapel, they place a pink, paper angel on the table that the casket is resting on. Inside it, an angel sleeps, never to wake again.
~*~
A room is filled to the brim with people crying. The oppressive forces of guilt and suicide press in from all sides until the girl sitting towards the back only wants to stand up and run out of the room, to run away from this terrible, mass grief.
Around her, people sob, but there is no bitter sweetness or gentle faith as there was at the funeral she went to last year, that of the girl-woman who was an angel. Instead there is only sad, dark sorrow and quiet snuffles of regret.
When the boy’s friend did the same thing the year before, the girl in question retreated into the room with the piano after they had been told and there she played a few notes, quietly to herself, tears falling onto the ivory keys for somebody she didn’t even know.
This time there are no tears and this time, she actually remembers who it is she is meant to be sad for.
She returns to the room with the piano later that day, the room that he used to frequent every day for almost five years – although despite this, she never had any direct contact with him. Nearly every person who comes through the door is crying but she just sits there silently and waits until the allotted fifteen minutes is up and then leaves.
~*~
A young mans body falls to pieces on a television screen and a young woman watches and cries.
Another man falls to pieces using only words on a page and the same woman reads and cries.
She sits alone in the silence of the afternoon and listens to her favourite sad song and wonders how many people will be at her funeral and how they will remember her when she’s gone.
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no subject
Date: 2006-06-03 10:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-03 10:43 am (UTC)*hugs*