there's a light outside my window

There’s a light outside my window.

Everyone has one, I think.

Young and old, short and tall, fat and thin; they all have one. Everyone who was anyone has one.

I don’t remember the first time I saw mine, flickering in that window in my head.

I think it was when it changed – the first time it went yellow. A moment so ordinary all I can remember is that light, flicking from green to yellow.

It’s yellow now.

It’s to be expected I suppose. That's what my school counsellor said, but he didn’t say yellow. He said, grief and sadness and pain and you can come talk to me anytime.

His light was green when he was talking to me. I could see it. His smile was pity filled, and his words textbook. I was a chore to him, the more boring one of the day.

You don’t have a light. Not anymore. You’re not anyone. You’re dust and darkness, and dust and darkness don’t have lights. They have pills and coffins and funerals.

The last funeral I went to was that teacher that died in the car crash. Do you remember? It was two years ago, and we sat in the very middle of the assembly, and afterwards we made fun of the eulogy. They said she was kind and nurturing and lived for teaching. We knew it was a lie.

She was mean and cruel and mocked us when we needed help, and we thought that the only thing she hated more than teaching was herself.

I wonder who’s doing your eulogy?

I wasn’t asked.

We’ve known each other for as long as I can remember, and I wasn’t even asked.

I think it’ll be someone green. I saw your mum reading a piece of paper before. That was probably it. Or maybe they’ll get a teacher to do it. For the school, so they feel like they contributed.

I know what they’re gonna say.

I don’t even have to hear it to know exactly what they're gonna say.

They’re gonna say, you were pretty and sweet, kind and quiet. That you kept to yourself in school, and although you didn’t participate in class you were always ready to help if someone needed it.

Pretty words and sweet compliments.

They don’t even know you.

I did.

I do.

You were ugly, and mean, and spat venom every chance you got because you said that the world was dying and its people were terrible, but that I was one of the few things worth living for. And you were loud. I think, when I’m old and grey, that's what I’ll remember most.

You being mean, and you being loud.

Whoever’s doing your eulogy is gonna have a green light. I know it. Mine’s yellow, and I can’t even imagine tomorrow when you’re not here today.

Mum thinks I want to die.

She sat outside my door until she fell asleep, and dad carried her to bed around three in the morning. I think she heard me crying. She didn’t want me to turn to dust and darkness, doesn’t want me to be buried in a grave next to you.

But I don’t want to be dead.

I just don’t necessarily want to live.

It’s hard to explain.

I saw a video the other day. It was about a guy who was told that every single person on the earth was him, reincarnated over and over and over until everyone who was anyone was him, from the start of the earth to the end.

He was Hitler and he was the people he murdered. He was a slave, and he was the master. The scientists that sent a rocket to space, and the people that watched on the TV. Both sides of the same coin in every single moment in history. I don’t like that video. The idea of interacting with myself over and over and over, being the only person on the earth to exist at any single moment is odd to me, to say the least.

But if it were two.

Two of us reincarnated in a hundred thousand separate lives, I would like it. Just us two, for eternity. I like that idea.

But you’re dust and darkness, and the light in your window died with you.

Was it red before you left?

How long was it red for?

How long was it yellow? Did it seem normal by the end, your yellow light filled with thoughts of pills and coffins?

I can’t imagine mine ever turning green again. I’ll be on my death bed filled with memories of you being loud and you being mean, and all I’ll think is my yellow light is normal. Maybe it’ll be green right before I go?

I’ll see you again.

Of course, it will be green.