Dust

The heat was not yet unbearable but it was keeping sleep at bay, ahead lay one restless night. They lay under a thin sheet; the light in the room was coming from a single dimmed lamp, not harsh enough to sting their eyes. Fresh, slightly cool air was coming through the open window and made its escape trough the open door, into the street outside and back into their window, an unending circle. It was a circulation of life, if it was to stop then so would all life.

Joanie readjusted her pillow, no longer attempting to get more comfortable, her hay coloured curls were sweaty and she pushed them away from her eyes, although there was nothing she really needed to see. Paul, with his wrist under his head, his pillow long ago discarded was participating in a starring contest with the ceiling, with no clear victor in sight he sighed.

“Why does it even matter anyway, in the end all that is left is dust.” Joanie rubbed her forehead, she couldn’t make herself have another cold shower, and it would only be helpful for five minutes.

 

“If that statement is true, than nothing we do or anything that has ever been done matters. Then nothing matters.” He prolonged the sound of nothing, echoing the o as if it went back through the ages.

 

“Perhaps nothing does matter, most of all we don’t matter. We end up being nothing after all, food for the warms or even worst dust. The only difference is how we become that dust.” Joanie drew up the sheet closer to her head, covering her neck. “The paths are different but the result is the same”

 

Paul felt Joanie’s discomfort, her words escaped her mouth too fast, her mind was working to fast to produce all of the thoughts, he knew that she hasn’t shared all of them with them and probably hasn’t remembered all of them. Heat was getting to her, or what he hoped was heat.

 

“How are the paths different?” Paul turned to his side, facing Joanie, this way he was able to observe her better, see how her face changed when she spoke.

 

“The difference is in time, how long it takes to become nothing but dust.” She winced. “It’s so much more though. If nothing but dust is left have we ever existed?” Joanie shuddered, a motion that had nothing to do with weather. “That’s why the thought of cremation has always made me so uncomfortable.”

 

“If nothing is left of the person it doesn’t mean that they never existed. The memories and possessions remain. Pictures, videos, whatever that person has made or shaped remains.”

 

Joanie finally looked at Paul, her eyes big and ever slightly misty. “But the human mind can so easily be tricked, true memories forgotten, false ones made up instead. It can’t be trusted all the time to keep a memory alive.” She smiled the saddest smile Paul has ever seen. “And what about those people who have no one? Have they existed if no one is keeping their memories alive? Pictures get lost, files corrupted, possessions and creations lost. But for a long time the body remains, there is proof that the person walked on earth, there in those bones.”

Paul drew up his knees towards his chest; with every word he became more sullen. So many people faded from memory even before they died, if a person hasn’t achieved an unfeasible greatness or left behind great works of art or inventions, did they even matter? Yes, too many people died alone as well, maybe their genius was never discovered, they might have been the last to die out of their close circle or because they were never fortunate enough to have met someone they could share their lives with. After most people have gone, almost nothing of them was left, apart from their bones and rotting bodies, if that was left at all.

 

They continued lying there side by side; Paul was on his back now his head at the same level as Joanie’s shoulder, two lovers so close to each other but not touching. Not even thinking about touching. The heat has taken so much out of them and now their conversation left Paul feeling more tired, wasted. Maybe life doesn’t matter, Paul thought, maybe he had no big effect on the bigger world and a few years after his death, no one would think about him much or there would be no one left to remember him. But this he decided firmly shouldn’t stop him from enjoying life and trying to live.

 

“Do you want some cereal?” Paul grinned at Joanie, getting a blank stare back from her.

 

“No, but that left over pizza would be great.” Joanie laughed, and her laughter cleared away all of Paul’s depressive thoughts.

Reviews

[Steve]

Wow.......very thoughtfully done. I really dont even think those thoughs expressed are 'depressive'. I think that this conversation is very important and understandable.
I think that all thinking people should wonder such thoughts and verbalize them if necessary......

Very good job! I am glad i read this.......

[Nadia Vincent]

Yes, genetic memory of course, I really didn't think of that but how ungenetic is it? But are more personal traits passed on through blood as well as the more genetic make up of a person? What about those people who never had children, whose DNA was never passed on?
Lessons keep on reoccurring as well, empires fall and the same mistakes are repeated.
Sorry, it appears that I have continued with the unending philosophical theme!

Thank you so much for the comment and reading it too! I shall try my best to post something new very soon!

[alan peter kelly]

i laughed at the staring competition with the ceiling...that was clever...and as for questions regarding the memory of our existence? I suppose the best we we can hope for is the perpetuation of genetic memory of our children and our species...the lessons we teach to our fellow humans...from dust we arrive...unto dust we are returned...it's as profound and paradoxically insignificant as that...this write has a humorous twist for a finale...it is thought provoking and something I will probably read again...more please :)