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Death Note

by Marie Sinadjan 6 months ago in Short Story
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A short story of the complications of love, loss and saying goodbye.

Death Note
Photo by Alexey Savchenko on Unsplash

Note: This is a work of fiction. CW for death, suicidal ideation, guilt, grief, and mentions of shootings and a car accident. Nothing graphic, however.

I know how you're going to die.

I've seen it.

I've tried a thousand different things to stop it. Except to tell you.

And now we're out of time.

It never happens in the same way. It never happens in the same place. But it happens anyway.

I'm tired, Mother. I'm tired of saying goodbye to you. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of feeling.

We were never really close, you know? Not in the way you thought, though you always believed otherwise. I learned to read you enough to know the acceptable things to say, when to nod, when to let an argument go. I never knew you, not truly, not in the way that mattered, until the first time you bled to death in my arms. That night, I looked into your eyes and felt the love you always said you had for me.

And how I hated you for it.

I hated you for leaving me. As if you could've just willed the bullets out of your body or deflected the shots like a superhero. As if you had any real choice in the matter. Then I hated you for making me feel like it was my fault. If I hadn't been there with you, if you didn't ask to see me because you missed me, then you wouldn't have died, you know? If I didn't exist, then whatever you did that night would've been irrelevant. You'd have stayed home and knitted a sweater or something. Maybe.

I hated you so much then that I sought to right the wrong that was your death. I didn't want to owe you anything more than I already did. I already owed you my life once, and I didn't need to owe it a second time.

You died the next time anyway. And the third. You'd think time travel would be the solution, huh? But you were stubborn, even more than usual. You refused to listen to me. You wouldn't see reason, unaccepting of any of my excuses. And when I said nothing to your request to have dinner that night, choosing silence as my weapon, you drove over and practically dragged me by the ear out of my apartment. We met your grisly end on the highway, our car totaled by a speeding truck, and I didn't even see it coming.

I hated you so much I went further back in time to try and stop you and Father from having me. You died anyway. I tried to stop you two from meeting, but still you died anyway.

Why wouldn't you live? Why do you have to die for me? Why must you be the one to sacrifice? Haven't you had enough?

It should be me. I don't care if you think it's wrong for a parent to watch their child die. That disastrous night is the end result of a long line of bad choices and stupid decisions. I brought myself into that line of fire, not you. You don't have to feel responsible for me, and I mean that with no disrespect. You already did everything you could, Mother. You raised me in the best way you knew how. You weathered the storms of your marriage, the collapse of the economy, and the horrors of raising a child single-handedly. You were never perfect, but you were enough. You've always been enough, even if I'd been much too stubborn and dumb to admit that.

Please, Mother. Just this once, please, choose yourself. Save yourself. Let me show you that I love you, and please accept that love.

But you will have to let me go.


Short Story

About the author

Marie Sinadjan

Filipino author, singer-songwriter and theatre actress. Loves writing fantasy short stories, composing songs for books, and reading SFF and YA. Also writes romance, horror and scifi. Married and based in the UK.

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