La Mort d'un Meilleur Ami (The Death of a Best-friend)

The day was cold and although the sun had peered out of his abode, the day was dark and cloudy. She walked up to the window. The flowers were still there in their hundreds and thousands, like tiny grains of coloured sand they depicted a slow fading picture of love and admiration for his soul. The dress was hung on the closet door, she sighed as her trembling fingers ran through the soft black fabric. Just like her thoughts, the ripples straightened out ready to fulfil its duty. She looked around the room, all was in its usual place, but, none of it made sense. All of it seemed trivial. All seemed lost. There was a knock on the door. She stopped. Took a deep breath...

            ‘Yeah?’ her thin voice wavered.

            ‘Puis-je entrer?’[1]

            ‘Oui,’[2] she glanced quickly at the mirror in front of her whilst fixing her curls behind her ears, ‘Celine...’

            ‘Ma petit fille douce,’[3] she stroked her head, entwining her fingers into the messy curls, ‘He’s watching you. He will always be watching you.’

            ‘I know.’ She glanced away from the eyes which glistened, feeling the pain only a mother could feel after the loss of a son.

            ‘You can’t stay here forever,’ the voice that once was so calm began to tremble as the grief began to take over. ‘The smell, it still hasn’t left.’

            ‘Death never leaves once it has come.’

The room became silent, both women looked at each other.

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

The older of the two looked around whilst resting her palm on the youngest’s shoulder, knowing she was the only person who could understand her pain. She knew that from then on her young tanned face would forever reflect her son’s and still she did not want it any other way. The still and cold air brushed against their skin, almost like a spirit trying to caress their wounded hearts...

‘Take your time,’ a tear peered over the rim of her eye and rolled solemnly down her face, ‘Just take your time.’ She looked around the room once more whilst opening the heavy oak door. Her weak smile accompanied the closing door, slow and quiet.

The room was deserted once more, only her cold thoughts and dark desires dwelled with her. She opened the veranda doors. Her eyes searched for the end of the horizon, almost searching for the end of her pain. Her bare foot touched the cold stone sending a surge of reality through her. Her hands grasped the intricate rail. She stood for a few seconds, her feet glued to the hard floor. Her thoughts evolving gradually, framing her memories like wilted roses. Her hands grasped tighter as her feet slipped into the filigree gaps in the rails. Her eyes transfixed on the pool reflecting the horizon.

‘La mort n’est pas la fin,’[4] she murmured whilst her gaze framed the horizon, ‘Death is not the end.’

Slowly she loosened her grip. Her eyes overflowing with tears of sorrow. Her heart was racing as her thoughts blackened. She looked around, there was nobody – only the sea of flowers which had begun to wilt. Her hands shook as she let go of the white rail. The cold air raced into her lungs as she took a deep breath. Her mind became blank as her feet felt the soft cold air cut into them. Her arms floated almost like a cloud as her body raced through the air. As her body slumped onto the hard ground her eyes opened, transfixed, gazing.

Their eyes met hers. She looked at the semi-opened coffin. His features were just about able to make out under the thin flowing veil. That was the moment she knew, that was reality – a reality she couldn’t run away from. She looked at the piece of paper in her hands, the blotches made it hard to read. She looked up again, they all expected something – they all expected comfort. She put down the paper on the wooden stand. Her hand wrapped itself around her pendant. Her eyes closed. His eyes met hers, her heart sank as her soul took refuge, as the words resounded...

‘We will always be together.’ His voice was soft and calm. His smile was tender, whilst his eyes dimmed with sorrow and pain.

She opened her eyes as his transfixed on hers. Her tears cascaded down her face as his last words resounded. She clasped tighter and tighter until the stabbing pain reduced some of her soul’s despair. As a drop of blood streamed down her wrist, she looked up, and although the words hurt her deeper than anything else ever could, she gathered the remains of her strength.

‘Une âme pure, un vrai vainqueur, un vrai héros. Nous vous aimerons toujours. Éternellement vous habiterez dans mon coeur. Reste dans la paix mon Ange. Maintenant vous êtes vraiment libres.’[5] Her voice was sturdy, trying to fight the pain eagerly awaiting for an apparent moment of weakness in order to escape. Once again she looked at the coffin, her hands trembled as she faced the fact that she would never feel his tender touch, hear his sweet voice or smell his warm breath so close to her that it became a melange of both of their breaths. She looked at his mother, her tears flowed into her melancholic smile. ‘Now you’re free, darling Angel.’ She mimed as she walked to the open casket. Everyone’s eyes followed her. She lifted the veil. His face was pale, more pale than usual but still Death had not stolen his beauty. She let go of her pendant, a drop of dark red blood dripped on the perfect bright white shirt. She looked as the ripple effect created a perfect circle on his chest. ‘Eternally in my heart. I will love you just as I always have.’ She caressed his cheek with her humid fingers, ‘We will always be together,’ she planted a soft, tender kiss on his pursed lips, ‘I promise.’

---

[1] ‘Can I come in?’

[2] ‘Yes’

[3] ‘My sweet baby girl,’

[4] ‘Death is not the end,’

[5] ‘A pure soul, a true winner, a real hero. We will love you forever. Eternally you’ll live in my heart. Rest in peace my Angel. Now you are truly free.’