LJ Idol, Topic 19: "Et tu, Brute?"
Some have said that Death was a river, a tunnel, or a bridge. They said that Death was a path to whatever came after life, be it pleasure, pain, or oblivion. It was a transition. Jamie didn't know who was right, yet. One thing everyone had neglected to spin in their tales was how lonely she would feel, having left everyone else behind. For Jamie, Death was a hallway, not unlike the ones in high school, with soft lighting and innocuous linoleum flooring. Maybe there was more to it, but she didn't want to find out. Not yet.
Not yet, Jamie whispered to herself, facing the only door she could see. She knew it was the threshold between living and dying, as simply as she knew that she had already been dead for several years. A gentle fog crept through hall, tenderly embracing her ankles with its pale hands. When she had lived, fog frightened her, but this was different. It was familiar; as familiar as her own face must have been, once. As the meaning of passing days slowly crumbled away, so did the memory of mirrors; of breathing; of color; of warmth.
What she didn't forget was her family, her friends, the things she had loved best. These swept through her mind, waxing and waning with her moods to linger on them. They were why she stayed. Someday, Jamie reasoned, they too would have to come through this door. And so she waited.
She supposed she could stop waiting at any time. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, and the lighting seemed better in each. Sometimes she thought she could hear laughter or barking, and perhaps it would be nice to see something new for a change. But not yet, Jamie whispered, taking a seat and gazing at the door. Waiting.
It was quite a long time before anything changed. Sometimes she reasoned that this was a reason to be happy; after all, as long as the door stayed shut, that meant the people she loved were still living. Most of the time, though, she felt dimly angry and often so lonely. When the door did finally open, it took her a moment to realize that someone else had entered the hallway with her. Blinking with unhurried surprise, she looked up at him - Marc, but older, with a softness about his edges.
He looked back, studying her, and did not seem startled. "It's been a long time, Jamie." He greeted her finally, watching as she rose from the fog tendrils which slid idly over her shoulders.
"You grew up." Jamie couldn't keep the accusation from poisoning her greeting. "I've been waiting here, all this time."
I loved you, She did not say. I loved you all and I waited so long. He understood the words in her silence and reached out to pass a hand through her hair. She couldn't even remember how it had looked, only that it had been hers, once.
"Life moved on," Marc answered, as gently as he could, who still remembered warmth and the color of her hair. "Your parents are doing well. Your sister got married a few years back; named her little girl after you." She could not dissolve the flood of mixed jealousy and relief that rushed from her eyes, both bitter and grateful to know. "We didn't forget you," He promised, "But... we did move on."
"Even you?" Jamie thought of him as he had been when she lived, of sweet kisses and promises of forever. But you promised, you promised!
Stepping down the hall, Marc gave her a sad smile, untouched by guilt. "Even me." As simply as he had walked in, he walked away, choosing the length of hallway that seemed best and following it until the other end swallowed him from vision.
The confessed betrayal didn't feel so much like the treachery Jamie had always thought it would. Grief - at her own loss, at missing all those years, at having waited for so long - sank from her limbs and was willingly swallowed by the kind fog which had embraced her all this time, as she looked both ways and finally began to walk.
This has been a fictional entry for the nineteenth topic of LJ Idol's eighth season, which is "Et tu, Brute?"
Concrit is encouraged, appreciated, and welcomed!
Not yet, Jamie whispered to herself, facing the only door she could see. She knew it was the threshold between living and dying, as simply as she knew that she had already been dead for several years. A gentle fog crept through hall, tenderly embracing her ankles with its pale hands. When she had lived, fog frightened her, but this was different. It was familiar; as familiar as her own face must have been, once. As the meaning of passing days slowly crumbled away, so did the memory of mirrors; of breathing; of color; of warmth.
What she didn't forget was her family, her friends, the things she had loved best. These swept through her mind, waxing and waning with her moods to linger on them. They were why she stayed. Someday, Jamie reasoned, they too would have to come through this door. And so she waited.
She supposed she could stop waiting at any time. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, and the lighting seemed better in each. Sometimes she thought she could hear laughter or barking, and perhaps it would be nice to see something new for a change. But not yet, Jamie whispered, taking a seat and gazing at the door. Waiting.
It was quite a long time before anything changed. Sometimes she reasoned that this was a reason to be happy; after all, as long as the door stayed shut, that meant the people she loved were still living. Most of the time, though, she felt dimly angry and often so lonely. When the door did finally open, it took her a moment to realize that someone else had entered the hallway with her. Blinking with unhurried surprise, she looked up at him - Marc, but older, with a softness about his edges.
He looked back, studying her, and did not seem startled. "It's been a long time, Jamie." He greeted her finally, watching as she rose from the fog tendrils which slid idly over her shoulders.
"You grew up." Jamie couldn't keep the accusation from poisoning her greeting. "I've been waiting here, all this time."
I loved you, She did not say. I loved you all and I waited so long. He understood the words in her silence and reached out to pass a hand through her hair. She couldn't even remember how it had looked, only that it had been hers, once.
"Life moved on," Marc answered, as gently as he could, who still remembered warmth and the color of her hair. "Your parents are doing well. Your sister got married a few years back; named her little girl after you." She could not dissolve the flood of mixed jealousy and relief that rushed from her eyes, both bitter and grateful to know. "We didn't forget you," He promised, "But... we did move on."
"Even you?" Jamie thought of him as he had been when she lived, of sweet kisses and promises of forever. But you promised, you promised!
Stepping down the hall, Marc gave her a sad smile, untouched by guilt. "Even me." As simply as he had walked in, he walked away, choosing the length of hallway that seemed best and following it until the other end swallowed him from vision.
The confessed betrayal didn't feel so much like the treachery Jamie had always thought it would. Grief - at her own loss, at missing all those years, at having waited for so long - sank from her limbs and was willingly swallowed by the kind fog which had embraced her all this time, as she looked both ways and finally began to walk.
This has been a fictional entry for the nineteenth topic of LJ Idol's eighth season, which is "Et tu, Brute?"
Concrit is encouraged, appreciated, and welcomed!