The Enigma of Embers: Sophie’s Story
She used to say, “Don’t you think it’d be romantic to die young?” I never quite understood what she was talking about. She used to say, “If I died five years from now everyone would mourn all the accomplishments I never got to achieve.
“If I died in a year they’d weep for me because, “Only the good die young””, She told me as she breathed out a ring of smoke from her cigarette. I watched her for a moment, taking comfort in the fact that she was breathing. She always joked that one day she’d lug around an oxygen tank. . . If we ever got to “One day”.
She took another puff on her cigarette and cut a glance sideways at me. She knew I hated when she smoked. It was one of her bad habits that I hated because it could take her away from me. . . maybe sometimes that was a good thing, but I never saw it that way. The smoke made my lungs burn and my eyes tear up. . . or so I pretended that that’s what was making me cry.
We were different. She and I. She killed herself slowly. I wanted to get it over with quick and peacefully. If there was such a thing. I wasn’t afraid of death, only of not succeeding and waking up to find my insides being purged of whatever I decided to end it with. After all, what was the point in keeping a body alive if the soul is already dead?
We were different. She and I. She had a fire inside her. This flame that lit up everything she did, and most of the time I don’t think she even realized it. I remember one night I refused to drop her at the gas station to get cigarettes. She was furious, “If I don’t get them now I’ll just get them later.”
Fine, I thought, but I won’t be part of it. She riddled me with eyebullets the entire way home. If looks could kill I’d be six feet under right now. But it’s not looks that kill, at least not one. . . but multiple looks can be deadly.
I saw the way they watched us, as if we had climbed out from underneath a rock. Like we were contagious. Sometimes I wondered if I was.
But no, if she was going to go she was going to go down in style. The big bang. A final, “Fuck you!” to all the people who had hurt her. “You shit on me in life so now you can carry the guilt of my death with you for the rest of your years.”
We were different. She and I. When I went it was going to be inconspicuous. I wasn’t going to do it to hurt people. Just the opposite. I was doing it so I stopped hurting people. Every way I turned it was one more heartbreaking mistake over and over again. If you want to solve a problem you need to figure out the source. . .The source was me.
She coughed, jarring me out of my thoughts, “If I died tomorrow, what would they say?”
How does someone describe the light in a burning ember?
So beautiful, so bright that it almost hurts to looks at, but at the same time it makes it impossible to look away. Makes you want to look all the more.
“Are you ready to go?” She asked, holding out her hand.
The smell of smoke lingered in the air long after she was gone.
i think this is absolutely brilliant. more.