I Spoke To Death For The First Time
I spoke to death for the first time. It was standing right in front of me with a sinister grin. With it’s transparent unholy form engulfing me, without my permission. Deviant death dwelled on me before I understood what was taking over me. My vision was suddenly clouded with pain and confusion. My lungs were no longer filled with oxygen but filled with nothingness instead. The body that I inhabited is no longer whole but broken by death. I could not escape the fight without scars that run deeper than my veins. The fight ended in a bloody tug-of-war but what was tugged from me was my heart. And yet the only thing I was able to grab was someone else’s pain from this translucent being. Our pain intertwined and began going through a rollercoaster of emotions together. I now knew the conversation death had with everyone else. I never noticed it lurking over me all day. I never felt its hot breath on my neck. By the time I noticed it’s burning breath it was too late. Yet I felt the cloudy aura over my body, that I could not shake. Instead, I was the one who shook like an earthquake.
On November 14 around 5:30 pm, I spoke to death for the first time. I received a call from my older sister that our dad died. My world stopped as if someone slammed on the brakes to my life. I tried to act normal as if nothing happened, but I could not do it. I told my friends “I have to go”. Of course, my friends asked “Are you ok?” I tried to play it off. My friends knew something was wrong. I left to go back to my dorm and call my mom to find out whether this news was true. When I heard my mom’s reaction, I knew it was true. That’s when the tears started pouring down my face uncontrollably. The pain and agony began crashing down on me like waves on shore.
The oxygen that I needed to breathe now became a curse. I began hyperventilating, I could not think, breathe, believe, or hope. I could only cry. My mom tried to calm me down over the phone but then her pain began to start because she heard how much I was breaking into pieces. So, she gave the phone to my grandma, in hopes of her calming me down. In the background, I heard my mom breaking as well. They told me to calm down everything is going to be ok, they were already on their way to come get me and bring me back home. But I did not believe everything was going to be ok. I just knew that this was a bad dream or a prank. They told me to pack some clothes or if I was unable to, they would do it when they got to me. Once I got off the phone with them everything felt heavy, I could not stand. I was on my knees asking God why? My heart was breaking apart, so now I have to restart the parts that departed. Once I was finally weak enough, I laid down on my bed, with the tears still pouring down my face. Like rain to a thunderstorm. Eventually, I finally mustered up the strength to clean myself up after what felt like hours. I started packing anything and everything. Once I packed everything that I could think of, I laid back down just feeling exhausted from life. After what felt like years my mom and grandma finally made it to me. After my mom and grandma, hugged me the first thing my mom said to me was “I wanted to be the one to tell you.” It turns out that my mom and grandma knew hours before I did. My dad’s mom called my mom to tell her that my dad had a massive heart attack. Once she received that information, she tried to hurry up and get to me to tell me, but my older sister beat her to it. After a bit more of conversation with my mom and grandma. We started driving back home, and as we were driving my mom convinced me to call my dad’s mother. Which was my first steep hill to climb.
Death knocked on my door, but it was not for me. It knocked on my door out of respect, letting me know that it was just here for someone else. Letting me know that it has been wanting to visit me for some time now. Despite our tug-of-war battle death was a nice person. It’s sinister grin provided me with a sense of comfort, that I never felt before. I held on to death as if I was a scared child holding on to their plush toy. Death raped me of my innocence but maybe I was never innocent, to begin with. Maybe I heard death’s dense footsteps approaching me. Maybe I felt death’s scorching breath on my neck before it ever reached me. Nonetheless, it made me stronger for when I see it again. Maybe I will win that tug-of-war battle next time or maybe death will defeat me again.
