The Dream That Is

A baby.

I always dream to bear a child of my own.

Ever since I was a toddler, I often pictured myself as someone who’s older enough, nursing and cuddling a beautiful, bouncing baby girl I would name Cassandra.

I would dress her with a pink lacey gown with soft ruffles and put pink satin ribbons on her curly mane. I would tuck her in bed, tell her stories of princes and princesses and elves and fairies until she falls soundly asleep. Every morning, we would take walks together and I would show her the world around her.

Such a wonderful dream!

Yet, I really do not know how motherhood could have been lovelier–until then.

It was pleasant to remember that used to be within my womb is a tiny speck of miracle who, supposedly, could have been blooming and growing these days.

But perhaps, it’s sad that my baby have to come at a wrong time.

Wearily, I dropped my head, both forgetting the hideous white mask this small room is wearing and regretting the things I have just done.

As I shut my eyes, I heard again my own voice tearing the silence of the past.

“Lorenzzz.”

Lorenz, my boyfriend, was atop my naked body. While his rigorous pumps went faster and harder, he clung more tightly unto my body while running his tongue on my naked skin.

“Tart… Keith…”

And I felt him exploded into invisible pieces inside me.

“Lorenzzz… wait up…” Another spurt from him and he was lying on his back beside me.

“Hey, Keith are you okay? What are you staring about?” he asked me after a while, I can barely hear him behind the monotonous hum of the A/C.

The buzzing seemed to get louder against the stillness. The cold numbly bite on my flesh yet, it nudges me to finally speak.

“I’m afraid, Lorenz, maybe, I’m actually more scared than what I can say. We should have not gone this far,” I whispered a few minutes after, the chilling cold around the room,  the thing that just happened between us and the fears building up within me all sent my voice to quiver.

“Ssh…”

“What if Dad learned about this? What if I end up just like Leslie?” Leslie was a classmate who had dropped out from school last semester after she got pregnant. “I don’t want that to happen to me.”

“Keith, stop fuzzing. Stay calm, okay. ‘No need to be scared,” Lorenz indifferently uttered.

He was alternately toying again with my peaks.

“But, Lorenz…” I felt electrified as I respond to his touch.

“I said, don’t worry. Just take those pills I’ve given to you, okay? They can help us,” he said, convincing me.

He, then promptly lowered his head unto my chest.

PERHAPS, HE IS RIGHT.

MAYBE, I CAN TRUST HIM, HE’S BEEN AROUND, I thought foolishly then.

At nineteen, so much was expected from me.

In fact, my dad’s anticipating that I would also be a good lawyer someday. That’s why he was that kind of strict.

It was really easy to please him until one day, during the school’s foundation anniversary, I met Lorenz, a good-looking junior from another Law school.

Eventually, he invited me for a date. It was followed by another date and another one. And after sometime, I ended sleeping with him.

And of course, Dad knew nothing.

Even my recent last visit to the OB clinic has been a secret. Though, I never thought that the obstetrician would later confirm what I still doubt earlier.

“Your tests came back positive, Miss Vialez,” the OB eagerly announced, not knowing her words were like bombs to my ears. I never thought that she would confirm what I still doubt earlier.

Foolishly, I tried to believe that getting pregnant was something that happened to other girls, not me.

Not me, I am sure of that.

Not me, not yet.

However, when I started missing a couple of periods, I began to panic.

Chaos of fears and confusions reeled in my mind. I even didn’t know how to react exactly—to be delighted or to be anxious. Of course, it my dream to be a mother, but not now.

But what shall I do?

“Why don’t we try the doctor suggested by my friend?” Lorenz softly implied on the phone. I’ve just called him and told him about the baby. “Owen said that doctor knows how to help people like us and he only asks a little payment.”

“Who’s doctor? What do you mean… are you saying…? Are you saying that you want to abort our baby? How dare you think about it?” I drawled at him.

I no longer mind his cold reaction about my condition but the idea that he just implied enraged me.

“Tart, we have no other choice…”

“But not abortion. Not that one. It’s no different than murder, Lorenz. I could not allow anyone to kill my own child.”

“Keith, you’re not thinking, are you? You’re going to have a baby, yet, we are too young to be his parents. Tell me, what do you know about taking care of a kid?”

Then, why didn’t we think of these things before, I wanted so much to shout at him, but I might not have the will to do so.

“You told me that’s it going to be okay. You said the pills will help us.”

“If only you have been careful.”

“I’ve skipped only once.”

“Damn, Keith, look what happened? What do you think we will do next? Sit on our damn ass? Relax while waiting for that baby to come out and make our lives more miserable?” he sharply said.

“Please, Lorenz, stop blaming me.”

“Okay, okay, just think about what I’ve said. Not our best option, but it will do us good.” Lorenz reminded before the dial tone went on.

I thought hard, cried and tried to make some sense out of his words; and there really isn’t.

Abortion.

How could he ever think of abortion when we are talking of our own child?

Maybe it was just sad that my little Cassandra had to come too soon. I wonder, DOES SHE EVER FELT UNWELCOMED AND UNLOVED?

OH, IF ONLY I HAVE BEEN BRAVE FOR HER.

But, I have been alone and very confused during those times.

That a week after that phone call, I found myself lying helplessly on that narrow coach untidily covered with a yellowish cloth.

Somewhere outside that room, I heard Lorenz talking with someone. Then, a man in white robe entered and gave me two pricks of injection and went out, leaving me alone again.

After almost an hour, I just felt a stinging pain down my lower abdomen as if a hundred big pins were piercing it.

Afterwards, it gradually lessened, but later returned.

The intensity of the pain was much greater then – it seemed a steel belt was being tightened and twisted around my waist.

“Aaarghh… Lorenz… it hurts.” I cried out, wishing at least he could hear me.

Moments passed, I was already panting and soaked.

I was beginning to be totally scared, when a man in white came in and gave me another shot of injection.

Maybe, fear of what shall happen next, I just closed my eyes against the gleaming lights.

The pain was still there when the man started to work on my lower body with a cold instrument. As he moved it in and out between my legs, shiver crept my spine painfully.

I COULD NO LONGER REMEMBER HOW LONG IT LASTED UNTIL I FELL ASLEEP AND DREAMT THAT MY BABY HAD WAILED HARD, FOUGHT HARD TO LIVE, BUT I, MYSELF, HER OWN MOM, REFUSED TO EMBRACE HER.

MY POOR ANGEL, I KNOW SHE’S GONE.

Then, a few days after we had gone from that concealed clinic, I was suddenly experiencing cramps, but suspected nothing about it, I just ignored it.

Then, immediately the following day, there was just a terrible, severe pain; and later, continuous bleeding.

The blood just won’t stop.

I was scared as hell with the sight of the scarlet blood and the recurring horrors of the abortion in my mind that perhaps, I had finally passed out.

Image by  JackMcIntyre on Deviant Art

When I opened my eyes, I was already inside this white, neat room. I heard two fuzzy, distant voices from somewhere.

I tried to move but I was so exhausted and drained.

The voices outside continued murmuring—might be of my dad and the attending doctor. From the torrent of their words, I could only sense a few.

“Failed to remove other products of conception…

infections…

serious complications…

hemorrhage…

hysterectomy…

sterility…”

THE HORRORS OF ABORTION, INDEED.

My head seems spinning; nevertheless, I try to sit on my bed, looked outside the dull night.

The moon, dumb and bright has just risen over some distant mountains, while I remained where I was slumped, musing.

I try to believe that one of the million shimmering sparks of lights up there is my own little star. My own little baby whom I snuffed out the chance to see the rays of the sun.

She would never even blow her pink little candles or wear her pink ribbons.

“Cassandra, my sweet darling, you do not deserve me for disowning you, but I wish that you’ll still smile upon me from way up there. Whenever sorrow and regret haunts me, may you always be there to happily shine light to the darkness of my nights.”

PERHAPS, MY MOURNING FOR MY BABY WHOM I NEVER KNEW SHALL LAST A LIFETIME.

Tears start forming on my eyes—tears for losing Cassandra and all the lost babbling babies I would have had.

My dream of bearing and rearing my own children shall always be a mere and lifeless dream.

A dream.

A baby.

It’s all gone.

(End)

Image by Danielle MacInnes on Unsplash

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Copyright © terradegramm 1994

All rights reserved.

This short story is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

 

Chagrin

The square clock finally struck ten in the evening.

For the thirtieth time, Alexandre disgustedly pulled the bond paper from the typewriter, crumpled it to a lump, and then plunged it into the blue waste can to join other crumpled papers he had thrown there earlier.

How long he had been sitting on that creaking chair no longer matter as long as he could come up with at least one bit of a story– right, just one darn story.

Tomorrow would be the last day to pass his entry for the prose writing competition of amateur writers. He must finish a story all this night to be able to submit something tomorrow. For beginning writers like him, the competition could be a sort of a big boost to make his name and skills recognize on that field.

He always like to write. But, when he received the neurologist’s diagnosis about his disease, he knew he can’t face failure twice.

A rare type of Dementia runs in their family and it will soon devour his memory prematuredly, including his skills on words and writing or whatever he has inside his mind.

Actually, at first he was reluctant to submit anything, afraid of being rejected again or maybe of being disappointed again. But his friend had been determined to pursue him until he couldn’t argue anymore.

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up so soon,” Tim mocked.

“It’s not that. You know that I like writing. It could be my life, yet it seems my hand and my mind doesn’t like to cooperate with me most of the time,” Alexandre muttered.

“I never know that it could possible, is it?”

“Me neither. Until…”

“Until you have read the story of the painter with a carpenter’s hand, am I right?” his friend interrupted. “That hopeless, frustrating story cast you to believe that such things might be real and worst, might happen to you as well.”

Perhaps, it was also happening to him.

One moment, his head was full of ideas and fancies enough to draft great tales and narratives, yet, the moment when he tried to give those bared thoughts a life and a form with letters and words and paragraphs, his mind would get frozen and blocked.

He could not even scrawl anything right out of those perfect images.

“Now, I’m also running out of time. I might woke up one day no longer remembering anything of the stories already scribbled in my head.”

“You are still young and I’m sure you still got enough time to finish a number of books.”

“What I know is that I’m scared.”

“Of what? Not able to write?”

“No. I realize that I’m afraid not being able to remember the words that I have not yet written down.”

It was, indeed, a hard struggle.

A failure.

“But just the same, you can still write,” his friend argued. “Sometimes ago, I stumbled upon what’s left of your written works and I think they were good enough.”

“I don’t think so. What I often write was not exactly what I have in mind,” Alexandre shrugged.

“But can’t you keep those? These might also deserve to be read, not just to be crumpled and thrown into your can.”

Image by Hector Laborde on Unsplash 

There are few time when he could be able to scribble something too, but, just the same,  that will just end up in his blue can.

This was not the first time he considered joining a similar competition; yet to no avail, he just couldn’t create one perfect story as an entry. He was ashamed of it. Not being able to do something that’s perfectly right seems to tear him apart.

The sealed thoughts haunted him like restless ghosts, as if his head will burst out if these are kept inside.

Alexandre recalled the painter whose hands were not blessed of the capabilities, which his head had.

Somehow they were not different at all; and they might even share the same pain and frustrations. Both the painter with the carpenter’s hands and him were artists deprived of the expression for their crafts.

“I must not be like him. I must not end up a total failure like him.” Alexandre whispered to himself. “If only I could write something different.”

He got up from his seat and went for the kitchenette on the far left side of his room.

While fixing a glass of milk, something in the cupboard, which, hanging above the sink caught his attention. As if remembering something, he reached for a little vial up above the shelves and took a spoonful of the white powder and mixes it with his milk.

Alexander brought the glass with him as he went back to his table; and began to stroke the typewriter’s keys.

Slowly, despite of the difficulty of letting the thoughts flow continuously, he had somehow, been able to form a narrative.

It took a longer time trying to come out real on his story but just the same, he was definitely sure he has done it.

A cock crows just as Alexandre was already tapping the last words of his article—”the words on the bottle read…” The cock crows again and he has finally finished it.

Going over his work, he frowned at the start but grinned to himself later on. The smile revealed his satisfaction. It was not a winning piece but it was his only obra-maestra. It was enough that now, he had not only written something else, but have also finished it.

He yawned and the thought that he was tired and sleepy finally came into his mind. He tucked the finished materials in a brown envelope and left it atop his table.

Recalling the glass of milk, he reached for it and gulped down all the remaining content of the glass. Then, he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes.

Hours later, it was already morning. Rays of sun streamed through the window beside the table.

The typewriter was silent. On the table are papers unused and an empty glass. An envelope lay half-sealed beside it.

At the side of the table was a blue waste can full of crumpled papers. At the other side of it was a wooden dock where the writer was stretched out.

A sink was positioned at the bed’s foot. A few plates still unwashed were neatly piled up on it. A half-filled vial stood beside the plates. Closely, the words on the bottle read: Warning: POISON.

(End)

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© terradegramm 1995. 

An Ode from Aireen

Important: Some scenes may contain suggestive theme and strong language. If you are uncomfortable with any of it, please stop reading here. 

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It was quite cool but I was not cold.

The place was misty and the silence was deafening. I heard faint voices until darkness surrounded me.

I have been on a long journey, yet, it seems I haven’t.

I was too tired but I found myself here. It’s hard to understand I feel quite relieved and kinda light now. It seems that I have discharged a heavy burden.

 It was really odd. I was alone but I have no fears.

Where am I?

All I felt was a kind of stillness, which made me rather strong amidst it.

“Aireen.”

A deep voice that possessed both the charm of tenderness and respected authority, called from nowhere.

The place is foggy, I couldn’t tell if there is someone here other than me. Maybe, my mind was merely playing tricks.

“Aireen!”

Uh-uh, there goes that voice again.

This time, I am sure that it came not from my mind, but somewhere within this place.

“Come, My Child.”

I strode a few steps– then, abruptly stopped, doubting where to go.

Wait, I have no idea where the voice came from, how could I follow?

“Welcome home, my little One.”

“Who are you? Where am I? Is this a dream?”

Eager to see whom I am talking with, I turned around, looking, waiting.

“Don’t you recognize Me? Can’t you remember this place?” the voice asked. “You’ve left this place fifteen years ago. This is your real home. I’m happy that you’re back, My daughter.”

Suddenly I get the notion that I knew where I am and whose big yet soft voice was sounding.

“Good Heavens! My God? My Lord? Is that You?”

“Yes, My child.” The voice answered with such pride with my recognition of Him.

“Where are You? Why can’t You just show up?” I exclaimed, I spun around as if I was dancing, trying to find the owner of the voice. “I’m longing to see Your face, your smile. Wait, by the way, do you smile, Lord?”

“Of course, I do. Ha Ha Ha!”

“Gosh and you also laugh. But, why are you still hiding? I used to hide when I had pimples. Are you also shy of pimples?”

“Naughty child, I am not hiding. I am here beside you. You only have to wander around with enough faith and love. Only then, you shall see Me.”

Something bright lit behind me; and as I turned to look, the most splendid court in heavens and earth unveiled wonderfully before my very eyes. Beautiful angels with manes of ebony and gold were everywhere.

Then, I found myself standing before God.

His face and clothes were beaming with glorious radiance. I have noticed His smile when I stared at Him with such blessedness.

“I hope it’s not yet morning. Lord, can you stop my red clock from ringing and interrupting us? I don’t like this dream to end.”

“Lovely lass, you are not dreaming. All of these are real.”

“But why am I here?”

Image from StockVault

The Lord paused for a while, then took a deep sigh.

I felt the sudden gloom, which crossed His face.

“You don’t really remember, do you?” He took a while to say His next words, “I love you, My Child and I can’t endure seeing you hurt again, even only trough remembering–but since you’ve asked.”

“What do you mean, Lord?”

“Aireen,”His dark eyes fixed on mine; His voice, suddenly strained. “Your mortal body has been dead for days now.”

I was stunned.

DEAD!?!

“Dead? Do I hear you right, My Lord? Why? How can it be when I am still very much alive now. I could still talk… and walk…” I stammered in disbelief.

I AM NOT DEAD!

I made a step or two, and then, hop.

God was already smiling a faint, wry smile when I met His eyes.

I’ve just realized I’ve asked too many questions at the same time. I couldn’t help not to smile, as well, for my foolishness.

“Yes, you are alive. You shall always be alive. You are Aireen’s soul. You are the one I have sent to a lovely couple some years back. You are the gift of Life that I have breathed to the cuddly frame of Aireen Vergara.”

His voice was more soothing now and He spoke with such calmness. However, His eyes were dancing with such pride and happiness.

I forced my lips to remain tightly shut because I prefer listening to such an awesome God, who is both happy and sad for my death.

Sad–because He knows that it hurts me to leave my family, my father and my mother and my sister.

Happy–because I am finally Home, back in His arms again.

“I am glad that you’re parents didn’t fail me. They have loved and cared for you heart fully.”

“Then. why Lord? Why did you allow me to leave them this early?” I felt my voice quiver.

I do not blame God. True. However, when I almost cried as I pleaded, I knew I still sounded that way.

“I know how you dearly love your parents and your sister, but…” He hesitated, the rhythm of His voice was fading. “How can I tell you, My Child?”

“What’s bothering You, Lord? Did something awful happened to my family?”

Image by Johnson Goh on Pixabay 

“It’s not them, Aireen, but it’s you.”

He drew a brief sigh and continued, “just close your eyes and I’ll let you see something.”

I willingly closed my eyes.

A second later, I saw a teenage girl sprawled on a cogon area and certainly breathless.

I uttered a silent “Oh!” when I recognized the torn, blue dress, which the girl was wearing. It was the gift of my parents for my birthday!

“My God, that’s me!”

I might have not even heard my own voice because of too much distress. I felt myself growing weak, that I tried to reach out and hold unto God to gain some strength.

“Yes, Aireen, it was you– or more correctly, your mortal remains,” His voice was soft yet, definite.

“So, am I really dead, Lord? But, why did I have to had a death as ugly as that?”

The horrible picture of the girl at the cogon brought chills upon me.

The blue dress was ripped at its left side, almost reaching the waist. There congealed blood stains all over it, as well on the sober and exposed body.

AND THAT GIRL WAS ME!

Then, abruptly, the memories of that dreadful Sunday morning came running in my mind.

It was the exact day of my fifteenth birthday and I asked my parents to leave me behind at the church after the Mass, to spend more time thanking God.

When I went home walking, a white van suddenly stopped a little ahead of me. Two men alighted and forcefully dragged me into the open car.

I fought hard but those men were mightier ; none of my efforts paid off and they succeeded in finally getting me inside their van.

Fear pushed me to shout helplessly ‘though I knew that nobody could hear me because the van was tightly closed and it was driving very fast out of San Carlos town.

Eventually, moments passed on so swiftly before I realized the nightmare that was happening.

THOSE MEN RUTHLESSLY ABDUCTED AND MOLESTED ME. I, A FLOURISHING FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL: DESTROYED AND DEAD.

IT WAS SUCH A LOATHSOME GIFT!

The thought was so sad that I didn’t noticed that tears were already streaming down my cheeks.

“Hush, Aireen, you are safe now,” God comforted me thoughtfully, “they can no longer hurt you again… never.”

“Oh, God, I am just grievous to know that they could really harm a fragile, little girl like me,” I reasoned, both confused and scared. “Why did You let them do it, Lord?”

 

Image by Kumamoto on Pixabay

“Why did You let them do it, Lord?”

“I love you, My Child, as much as I love all my people. But, many of them have already turned their back against Me and refuse to heed me anymore.”

I look at His sad eyes.

“Many of My people are lost and have let themselves to be helpless slaves of Evil,” His voice was gloomy and yet, the truth of His words is evident.

He spoke so kindly and He didn’t take His eyes off me.

“Aireen, your death has a purpose for my people. They shall believe that the evil has really gone deep among st them. They shall open their eyes and finally, see what the evil can truly do,” He paused, “and yet, at the same time, they shall also realize that they have been working already for the Devil.”

“Those men stabbed me continuously,” I recalled the moment with disgust.

“You were so brave, then. You fought to live, in spite of the wounds they repeatedly inflicted on you,” He almost stuttered, “in spite that you were already bleeding profusely.”

“I must live, Lord. They must pay!” My voice echoed and I felt the torment of my whole being, as strong as the sudden urge to retaliate.

“But you did not cease crying, even during your silence. The cuts and the bruises may have hurt you enough; and yet, they still didn’t stop. I am just thankful that you were such a strong girl to hang on that long.”

“You were my strength, Lord. I just thought that You were there beside me. Maybe, that was why I chose to be calm. Somewhere within me, I trusted that I was not alone during those scary moments.”

“Indeed, Aireen. A man is hurt to realize that he is never alone all through his life,” God said with such compassion. “Oftentimes, My Presence is mostly felt when a man is at his loneliest. My Love burnt most intense when a man is at his weakest.”

Meanwhile, a solemn music echoed from a nearby place.

We stood there in silence. Later, I leaned on Him.

It was such a cozy moment. Somehow, I felt safe beside Him.

IF ONLY MEN GRAB THE CHANCE OF BEING LOVED AND COMFORTED BY SUCH A GREAT GOD!

He broke the trance., ” I love you, Aireen. It pains Me when my fondest Creation is destroyed. I created you with so much care– carve your frame so patiently. Know every part of your delicate being.”

He paused, letting His words to sink in; then, began patting me on the shoulder.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever made,” God continued.

Image by Ana_J on Pixabay

“Do I really have to die?”

“I have redeemed you from those beasts. I can no longer allow anyone to hurt you that way again. Your cries almost tore Me to pieces,” His words deeply touched me, that I was dumb for a few minutes.

Turning to face Him, I asked, “They are bad. How can I make other people know that?”

I gazed up to God. My question had been asked, but it might lingered on my face.

“They are really not bad, My little one. They have only wandered away from My fold and gone astray. You see, I gave them freedom to choose their kind of life and, sadly, most of them, preferred the wrong way.”

“And You still love them, Lord?”

“Always. I do not change, Aireen. Standing beside you is a Father who still aches for the return of His lost children. How I yearn to hear their voices calling My Name once more. How I like to feel that they need Me again. Indeed, I dream and I am looking forward for the day when they shall all return Home.”

“You shall not punish them for what they have done to me?” I asked with such regard to this Great God of man.

“Unless, they don’t turn back and repent for their wrong doings, they shall not only be punished by laws of man, but shall be also deprived of the Gift of Life and Eternity,” He paused. “It’s sad that a sin can make man suffers its consequences.”

WHAT ELSE CAN I SAY TO A GOD LIKE THAT?

We kept failing Him, a million times and more and yet, here He is–keeps on waiting and reaching out to us and saving us from our mistakes, every single time.

“Can you forgive them, My child?”

“It was hard, Lord. Actually, I do not want to do that,” I gazed up at Him, “however, because my God forgives the worst sinner, who am I not able to forgive as well? Because my God loves the most unlovable sinner, who am I not able to do the same?”

“My gratitude, Aireen. I am proud of you, My child, so as of your parents, who have raised you.”

The mere mention of my parents instantly brought gloom in my heart.

IF ONLY I COULD DIE TOMORROW…

IF ONLY I COULD JUST WALK BACK HOME AND HUG THEM BOTH FOR LONG TIME…

“Aireen, you must not regret dying now. As long as you have lost nothing, be calm. Be happy that you had died prepared, in spite of your young age. The sunshine, which you have radiated on your stay on earth shall continue warming up other lives.”

“Can I see them, Lord? I mean, can I have a last glimpse of earth and my family?” I looked up, wondering how will God react to my question.

“Yes, certainly, you can, but be back immediately. The Heavens is your Home now, where you are destined to belong and be the happiest.”

Image by Johnson Goh on Pixabay

Moments passed and I am already standing amidst my wake.

My very own wake.

I quickly noticed familiar faces among the mourners. My cousins, my aunts and uncles, my grannies, my neighbors, my teachers, my classmates from High School and even from Elementary. They have come, to finally bid goodbye for their little Aireen.

OH, IF ONLY THEY KNOW THAT DEATH COULD ALSO BE A SWEET THING, MAYBE, THEY’LL JUST THANK GOD THAT I WAS BLESSED TO DIE YOUNG.

I found my Papa and Mama standing beside the silver casket. Papa’s arm is over Mama’s shoulders. She was leaning her head to his chest.

PAPA, MAMA…

Just recently, they have just expressed their profound appreciation to my being a rule-abiding teenager. They were even excited that, supposedly, after three years, their little Aireen shall finally be introduced to the world– their vibrant, outspoken little Aireen turning fifteen will soon be a graceful swan of eighteen.

ALAS, ALL IN A SUDDEN, THEIR BUDDING TEENER IS A LIFELESS AND COLD DEAD!

I walked towards the casket surrounded by wreaths of yellow and violet flowers. They surely know my favorites.

The glass board over it clearly displayed the following words:

In Loving Memory of

Aireen Morales Vergara

Born: October 10, 2001

Died: October 10, 2016

I peeked inside the casket and I was surprised with how the corpse inside looks. It appeared to be different, as if it belonged to another person.

PERHAPS, A DIFFERENT AIREEN LIES THERE.

I, Aireen, the girl known for being vivacious and sunny was gone.

GONE!

My laughter and endless queries shall never be heard again…

My out-of-tune songs would no longer pay homage to a new day…

My lips would no longer share the warmth of its smile…

When I was about to leave later, I glanced once more to the cold, small frame, which I used to share my life with.

It was then that I noticed that its pale lips were curved unto a sheepishly smile.

I HAVE DIED SMILING!

Too much pain may have killed me, but because I was hurt enough, that the same pain pushes back the agony I’ve been while the joy of my real nature as a teenager shows through.

Therefore, even at my death, I have not lost the one gift God have given me– to be a ray of sunlight to other lives.

MY DEATH, AFTER ALL, IS NOT REALLY A TRAGEDY TO GRIEVE UPON.

In fact, it was my life’s greatest goal: a dream to come Home to my Heavenly Father’s dwellings and to live eternally even after my death, believing that because my God lives, I shall live also.

The earth shall now be a living myth within the core of my memories.

The majestic mountains I have wished to climb, the fiery sea I have wished to sail on, the babbling birds on my window panes and the view of a starry night from my bedroom’s clear glass sun roof.

They are tokens to always remind me that once, I was blessed to share my life with God’s beautiful world.

Whatever had caused my death, whatever man had done to Aireen Vergara didn’t matter anymore.

From hereon, I know that I shall always remember earth with its goodness and loveliness, along with all the love and care I’ve been nestled with and the faces and voices I’ve been at home with.

FAREWELL!

The place was misty.

The silence was deafening.

I was alone, and yet I have no fears.

Somehow, I am confident where I am.

FINALLY, I AM INDEED HOME.

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