I can feel your puffed up chest under my heavy head after it rose up for the last time, inhaled for your final breath and never came back down again. I can see Brother’s face scrunching up like a ball of wastepaper and hear him punching the metal locker screwed up on the far wall. I can hear mother picking up her backpack, rummaging around, taking out a pocket mirror, see her shoving it up under your nose to check you were no longer breathing, to confirm that you were dead. I can hear myself whispering “What the fuck?” and I am watching myself witnessing your soul leaving your body and floating up through the hospital ceiling and out into the foggy October evening. My heart is in pieces this morning; still grieving, still, somehow, breathing.

Tell me what you think!

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s