Eternity Awaits

I don’t love, hate, or even have an opinion regarding my job, it has become nothing more than following through on what is demanded of me. Perhaps at one time it gave me a sense of satisfaction, knowing that what I do means something. But I became indifferent, apathetic, unemotional. In truth, I am uncertain whether this is a good or bad thing.

I perform better when remaining aloof, and in a strange way I feel content. That is until I saw her, to be precise I met her son first, right here in this very house. I saw something in the way she looked, her beauty, her vulnerability, her sorrow. Now, I fight to remain neutral when I am around her but make no mistake, part of me is waiting in anticipation for the day when we can be together.

Today, is the third time in ten days that I make my way to her to perform my duty. I ready myself to hear her beg, plea or pray. She does none of these, instead she sits in silence, while I say nothing.

There are two types of people when it comes to this, the Loquacious speakers or ones who become reticent. She is the latter. Therefore, I observe, waiting for her to decide. She could be amongst a crowd of a thousand people and still she would feel alone, for now there is only me and I cannot share my feelings.

I watch as she stoically pours herself a long cool drink of suicide, slowly stirring the ice with her elegant fingers before bringing the chilled liquid to crimson lips. The only sound is the ice cubes resonating against the sides of the glass. My silence is neither an approval nor deterrent for her to proceed, however knowing what I know this may be the best option for her, in my opinion.

I ponder that last statement, realizing I had an actual thought regarding her position, something that hasn't occurred in longer than I can remember. Again, there is that conflict fighting within me, staring into her eyes, I suppress my emotions and become calm once more.

In a trance like state, she makes her way to the table and sits opposite of me. Dark rings and puffy red eyes mask the beauty she once had, still has.

She pauses, and sets the glass down, prohibiting the elixir to slip delicately down her fragile throat and seep into her blood, prolonging the everlasting peace she has been desperately seeking. Maybe it’s her confusion that interests me, this inner struggle is not unusual. Rising, I walk towards her and sigh, not in anger or disappointment but with a practiced patience. I want to ask. ‘What are you thinking?'

Just then the air fills with a melodic tone singing out as she delicately traces the edge of the crystal glass, while staring at nothing. I have the forbearance to wait before embracing her. When she finally reaches a decision I will support her, if she chooses not to follow through I shall wait until next time.

Leaning forward I whisper into her ear, the sound is no more than a cool breeze brushing her flesh, sending a shiver throughout her body. I nod as her eyes finally look pleadingly to the heavens.

Her beautiful voice wavers as she cries out. “Why him?” A simple question full of contradicting answers that I know she will never accept.

She then whispers the question that haunts her. “Was it my fault?”

It wasn’t, but she refuses to believe that. I approach the window and gaze out wondering if it is possible for her to understand. I turn to face her, but she seems to have already passed on that train of thought.

Now, she has a photo gripped firmly in her hand. In a moment tears fall like dew from a morning flower, staining the paper that rest on the table before her. She begins to scribble once more, words written to console others or to alleviate her guilt, in truth it does not matter, I do not have the power to grant absolution.

Lifting her head, hollow eyes pass through me and stare out the window. I am no more real to her than this empty life she now lives. Following her gaze, I turn to see what captures her attention. It is her backyard, with a lone child on a swing, forward and back he glides, up and down. His laughter carries across the field of trampled grass, and forgotten toys, then nothing. The vision along with the child disappears. An empty swing now rocks in the breeze. It is the same child whose picture she holds in her tired hands, the photo is no more than a memory trapped in time.

I was there, I too remember. I watched him giggle, I watched his smile light the glow within her heart, for a moment I too felt joy, something long since absent in my soul. Did I feel sorrow as well? I think not.

Yet her grief was so great that it awoke a dormant part of me. If I could reach out and hold her, to comfort her I would. Instead, I remain as still as a cold stone statue guarding the dead.

Her once graceful fingers, now shake as she grasps the chilled glass, slick with dew from the melting cubes of ice rocking gently in the waves of amber liquid. A piece of me wishes for her to cast the receptacle of death into the crackling fire that burns in the hearth. Another piece of me eagerly prepares.

I have done this for an eternity and realize that I have no control in the outcome. I can not scream for them to stop or encourage them to continue. All I can do is observe, wait, and help ease their pain as I accompany them on their final journey.

Ultimately the choice is theirs.

Jason,

This story was adapted for the challenge, from a previous micro piece I had written, entitled 'Eternity waits for everyone'. I always knew there was more to the story. I am glad to have the chance to write about an unreliable narrator who is also conflicted.