Words by Saima Khan
Art by Des Ramjee
CW: Mentions of Death and Blood
The crimson sipping into the gravels almost glittered underneath the moonlight.
I could vaguely see the outline of my fingers haphazardly twisted, the gold ring standing out among the pool of glittering blood. Wasn’t gold supposed to glitter more, I wondered. It was my mother’s ring; perhaps the only jewellery I have cared for enough to never take off. Would it be taken off now? I won’t quite like that. Mom could tell the doctor to not take it off. Or maybe Dad could. He always has a way around with these things; people listen to him all the time. It would have been nice if they were here. Not really, no. It’s good they are not here. Would have been quite a pity to have to see your daughter struggling to live. I’m not quite sure how much time has passed. An hour? A minute? Is time passing at all?
As if to answer my queries, I could suddenly hear the ticks of my watch. It was a Swatch I had bought with my savings from Bangkok- a perfect shade of dirty white with golden numbers that glittered along with the ring and blood. I had called my parents twice before buying it because spending more than fifty dollars on myself felt like a milestone. I’m not quite sure how many ticks I counted- forty? Does that mean forty seconds have passed? That’s how time works right? One tick for one second. How many ticks do I have left?
I tried looking around but there was this splitting ache in my head. I wasn’t quite sure if blood was oozing out of my head or hands or both. I think I could feel my toes. That probably means my legs are okay? Well, that’s a relief. Always feared depending upon others while walking.
The moonlight suddenly became brighter. Almost too bright. Not even the beautiful calm white gleam. Now it was more like a white dazzle. Is that a flashlight?
One, two, three…That’s three pairs of feet I’m counting. Is that mom? I hope not. But I remember this pair of Comfit slippers I bought for Mom’s birthday. This particular pair of feet is the nearest. Must be her.
I closed my eyes.
It was breaktime. I opened my school bag to find a Penguin bar. I loved this chocolate more than anything in the world. I looked around to see the homeroom teacher smiling at me. She had been a perfect person in my head, the only reason I found school bearable. I smiled back at her and turned to take the wrapper off, only to find it being snatched away. Sigh. Not again. I was quite used to this particular boy taking my chocolate away everyday. Not sure why I let it happen. It’s okay. He can have it. I sat down and stared at him eating the chocolate from across the room.
I could feel someone pulling me by the shoulder. Is that a doctor? Not likely. Doctors should know better than pulling a dying person’s shoulder. There was a tingling pain in my neck. As my collars brushed against my neck, I could smell my own perfume. The fact that the fragrance could make it through the pungent smell of blood was applaudable. I tried to remember the name of the perfume. Fifth Avenue? Wait, I think I had stopped using it years ago. Eternity? Probably that. I’ve always been obsessed with perfumes. I tend to recall moments with perfumes. How will I remember this moment though? Scent of blood maybe? I probably won’t get to live to remember this moment anyway.
Another pair of feet.
Is that Dad? No, I think Dad is abroad. I was checking his flight schedule only this morning, reassuring mom that he is safe. We are always worried if our loved ones are safe. It drives me crazy. I hate being worried about the safety of people I care about. The newspaper drives me nuts nowadays. Not a paper printed without news of an accident – plane, bus, car, you name it. What was I travelling in? A car? Wait, I was walking I think. What happened then? I can’t really remember.
It was Parents’ Teachers’ Meeting day. I eyed my dad through the corners of my eyes. He was fuming. Apparently I failed Further Mathematics. I knew there had been a mistake. I kept telling him but he wouldn’t listen. I gave up. The teacher yawned. Always hated this man. Sister Michelle suddenly appeared out of nowhere with an updated report card. She was annoyed with the teacher for not adding my final exam marks. I’d have quite liked to see her hit him considering how angry she looked, but then we don’t always get to see what we want. My dad calmed down though and it was a relief. I don’t think I have ever feared a person more than I feared my dad. He has never raised his voice on me in my entire life let alone hit me, but something about this person would scare my entire digestive system out of me and I’m not exaggerating.
The blood was flowing all over now, zigzagging its way across the zebra crossing. Something about the way it flowed was rather enjoyable. As psychopathic as it would sound to find the sight of my own blood enjoyable, there really wasn’t much else I could do. I think my breathing slowed down a little bit. Has more time passed? I tried locating my watch but couldn’t see the glitters anymore. Where was the moonlight? It was all dark now.
It was 2am. I was standing at my sister’s door. There was a storm and she was cowering at the sound of the thunder. I went and sat beside her as she slowly calmed down. It’s strange how we think we can protect our loved ones from everything just by being there beside them. We could take a bullet perhaps but then the universe has so many other ways of attacking us. How can we think we can act as a protection from literally everything? From accidents and heartbreaks? From death? And at times, when life is cruel, how do you protect your loved ones from life itself?
I could feel my heavy eyelids. I wasn’t staring at the gravels anymore. It was all white, and there were shadows, too many of them. How am I seeing shadows and white at the same time? Doesn’t make sense at all. Someone was talking right beside me. It wasn’t mom. I tried to recall the voice. It was rather heavy. Dad? No, Dad is in Rome. He can’t be back so quickly. The voice spoke again. It was really close now.
He sounded worried – almost angry. I know this voice so well. The voice completes it – the end of my life. Knowing that I would never be able to trace back the voice, trace back the footsteps, trace back the memories, came as a relief honestly. Sometimes, it’s okay leaving things as they are.
Guess it’s the first time I will be leaving everything just as they are. The world turned into a blur.
