Death

Death

                She was a beautiful soul, always giving before taking, viewing the glass ass half full, perfect. She was perfect despite her addiction to self-condemnation. Day by bay she chipped away at herself until she became nothing but a living carcass. Moving through life in a haze; a dream almost, expressive to others but truly static. She tried everything: drugs, drinks, dogs, and not the furry ones with tails but the ones that are six-foot-tall with a pretty smile. Nothing worked, nothing ever worked. I prayed for her every night.

Day after day, she called.

“Hello” I answered.

“What if today is the last day? My freedom could finally be granted!” she exclaimed

“Explain, rephrase, or something. I am not understanding” I stated.

“I’ve been praying for it. I want it more than a new phone” she explained.

“Honey, what is it?” I questioned,

“Death” she whispered and ended the convo with a click. I called back again and again, never to be answered. I prayed for her every night.

                Hypnotized, she was stuck in a perpetual state of feeling less than. Not less than others but less than worthy, less than the world. Recognizing signs of struggle her parents became concerned, urging her to try the new prescription. She took one then another, the medication numbing her to herself. Now instead of being trapped inside herself; she was trapped in a box inside herself, inside herself. She prayed for death. I prayed for her every night.

                That night she snapped, throwing things, cursing, screaming, crying. When she fell still, she felt his presence.

“Why am I like this? I have everything I want and need, yet I’m still neglected. How do I lift the curse?” she sobbed

                The answer was clear; “Find rest in Me.” That night she prayed for guidance, sleeping peacefully with a grin. I prayed for her every night.

                She was a true lover of people, things, and ideas. She knew all my deepest secrets. My favorite person, only to be snatched away and buried like that fish I forgot to feed in the second grade. It was for the best I believe. She found herself. She found peace. As they say, “A beautiful soul never dies”, gone, but never forgotten. Rest in peace to the old me.