Post Mortem

I was 16, so some of the grammar is sloppy.

I reflected back to then, back to that ever so simplistic yet life altering moment when I held the picture in front of me and stared into my own closed eyes. It had only been a school assignment, and I’ll be the first to admit, I hadn’t exactly put my heart and soul into it. In fact, I’d only drawn it last period. Talk about a procrastinator. Yet in my hand, I held what I know now to be my most profound work of art.

It was uncomplicated, a scattered array of lines held together in the formation of an adult female figure. “Draw Yourself in Twenty Years”, this had been the project. It was an English assignment, and I was no artist, so I didn’t expect much from it, nor did I believe that anyone else held high expectations for it, either. The object was to use symbolic images to represent how you saw yourself in the future. So, as the ever so clever angst-filled teenaged girl I was, I had drawn myself dead.

Yes, dead- white lilies in hand, eyes closed peacefully, dark shadows in the background supposedly mourning their loss. I lay there, the perfect picture of tragedy and tranquility, clothed in an indiscernible, heavily shaded black dress, with my futuristic long, dark hair flowing gently over the sides of the casket. My features had been drawn on quickly; this was easy enough to tell. There was my nose, my rose-shaped lips, thick eyelashes, overly angular face, along with much too hollow cheeks that obviously captured my after death look altogether. At first glance, it was nothing extraordinary. But, if you looked a second time, you would see an ethereal, exquisite beauty hidden somewhere between the cheek bones and slightly parted lips. Or, maybe it was between the gently closed eyelids and seemingly unending raven hair. It was impossible to tell where, but there was a certain otherworldly, goddess-like quality hidden in this picture. Maybe I only saw it, but isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?

So, I had finished my portrait, and turned it in, titled “Post Mortem”. I personally thought it was a rather clever title. Also, luckily, the teacher thought it involved some deep, passionate meaning. This saved me a trip to the councilor’s office. Oddly enough, it was my classmates who questioned my artwork.

“Why are you dead?” The girl who sat in front of me asked, brow furrowed and nose crinkled in unattractive distaste. She was leaning on the back of her chair, arms across the top with legs facing forward. Her blonde hair slowly inched toward her eyes, so she quickly flipped it away, making it impossible for me to miss her not-so-flattering expression. Her name escapes my memory now, and I can assure you, I’d rather it that way.

“What do you mean, why am I?” I asked in return, face ridden in confusion. At the time, I didn’t realize what she had been talking about, so I was a bit lost.

“I mean, why did you draw yourself dead? How is that you in twenty years?” she replied, maintaining that same lovely expression.

“Oh, well, it’s me,” I said, accompanied by a loud, unexpected laugh, “Out of anyone, how can you expect me to be alive in twenty years?”

I believe each person’s life can be separated into three categories: What was learned, what was loved, and what was lost. Sure, there’s plenty more, but these are ground basics that almost any instance can be attached to. Besides these, you have the struggles, the profound epiphanies, the small, happy moments that make you think you’ve figured out what life’s really about, the not so happy moments when you think you’ve lost that meaning and want to end life altogether, and the monotonous doldrums in between. Though, when you’re lying in your deathbed, you’re probably not going to review these first. More than likely- and I would know- you’ll think about those deep, fateful occurrences that forced your life into an entirely different direction. You’ll look back to the day it all started, skim through the middle, and deeply analyze that hour it all ended. You’ll overanalyze it, and don’t lie, I know you will. You’ll wonder, what if, what if, what if? What if that hadn’t happened, what if I’d chosen differently, what if I’d stayed inside?

What if I had just ended it all then?

And then you’ll wonder, was it all worth it?

So, returning to those three categories, I’ve managed to organize each one for myself. I’ve had the time, I’ve had the patience, and now all I have is the perpetual reflection that occurs from now until that long awaited moment when I breathe my last.

Screw that, I want to live.

Of course I want to live. I feel like I’ve left something unfinished. There’s been a stone unturned. My life feels incomplete; it’s story without an ending, an essay without a conclusion, a sentence without a period-

Dear God, I’m comparing myself to sentence structure.

It’s funny how the world had become mystified to me. I felt like life was just a bad Hallmark special that I could choose to watch or ignore at any given moment. If only I could change the channel. But for now, I stood on one side of the glass, watching the actors play the roles written for them, pre-determined to follow a set plot, a set script, a set drama with a tear-jerking climax that I could choose to smile at, if only looked at under a different light. And this was what I did. I smiled. Maybe I was pretending that I had it all figured out, or that I was actually at peace. Maybe this was all I could do.

I don’t know, but I guess I want to smile. I want to look at the actors and smile, watching them overreact to every miniscule problem that littered their life. I’d much rather be watching Comedy Central, anyways. I want to look at myself, my incomplete life, and smile, to hold the tears inside and forbid them from overflowing. I like to look at it as a sign of strength. But secretly, for right now, I knew it was a sign of weakness.
So for now, I smile, I laugh, I let my world fog over into an unshakable snow globe. I cast away what is to come, and I reflect over what has already happened. If only, what if…

Category number one: What I have learned.

I’ve learned more than I would have expected of myself. Maybe you could call me an old soul. It seems like what wisdom I have came to me naturally, as it would be impossible for my slow, unobservant mind to pick up what I have from this blue planet around me. I’ve picked up a hell of a lot, too. But, I guess it’s really my obligation to teach right now.

I’ll start with the basics. Hi, I’m Ember. Yes, like fire. I’m thirty-six years young and have lived what I like to think of as a relatively fruitful life so far. I come from the ever so vibrant town of Philadelphia, which basically means I grew up on Pat’s cheesesteaks and have watched many a tourist fall into the trap of the always disappointing Liberty Bell. For grades one through eight, I attended a prestigious Catholic school, then regressed to a not-so-highly-acclaimed public school for my highschool years. Because I went to these particular schools, my scholastic education was, simply put, a load of BS.

As far as things I learned as a child go, I have one memory that sticks out rather boldly stored away in my mind. It may not have seemed like a very climactic event at the time, but I realize now, it’s the first time I learned a series of lessons that would easily determine my life path.

It was Christmas time. If you can recall, my family was Catholic. And I mean, prodigiously Catholic. Every breath they took reeked of the religion. So, when this certain time of year came around, my parents believed strongly in the overwhelming “Spirit of Christmas”. This all had an impacting effect on me. I was a strong believer in miracles.

No, I don’t mean what you think are miracles. The normal definition of a miracle is “A wonderful event that appears inexplicable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God”. Mine was slightly more twisted. I believed that, every Christmastime, I could get anything I wanted. That was a miracle to me. Thus far, it hadn’t failed. I had been a modest young girl, asking for only what I truly wanted. Santa Claus had followed through each year, bringing me my favorite toy annually, and so I, too, was a faithful disciple of the “Spirit of Christmas”.

Up until my seventh Christmas, I had asked for the average little girl presents. That year I wanted dress up clothes, the next, a baby doll, etc. But, this Christmas was different. I wanted something special, something more beautiful, elegant, and desirable than I thought any other girl had asked for that year. Actually, I commended myself on my creativity.

I’ll explain it this way. I’d been inside my mother’s closet thousands of times, searching through her clothes, her evening dresses, her extraordinary store of accessories and shoes. I’d put together many over-sized outfits in this closet, and flaunted my new look around the house afterwards, under the disproving eyes of my mother. Yet, the part of her closet that I loved the most, that I found the most exquisite, was her lingerie collection.

Beautiful laces, delicate silks, breathtaking corset designs sewn ever so tediously onto the most deserving of charming fabrics- this is what I saw through the eyes of a seven year old. There is no way to describe how dearly I wanted, no, needed, a personal set of my own. I didn’t quite understand all of it- I mean, can you expect a girl as little as that to know the purpose of a bra or a garter belt? But, I knew the underwear just fine, so, I’d developed a false understanding of lingerie. I believed that because they were such refined and stunning pieces of clothing, you wore them on the outside of your clothes, to show them off. It made all the sense in the world to me. My mom obviously stopped doing this a while ago, since now she was full-grown boring adult. So, each time I would venture near this particular section of her closet, she would think nothing of me putting on her finest lingerie and prancing around in it, fully dressed. In fact, she would laugh, and then say, “Ember, take off that _____,” which is how I learned the terminology.

It was mall Santa time, and I was heart set on what I would ask for. Actually, this was all I would be asking for, I told myself, so there was even more of a chance that I would get it. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, admiring my cleverness.

It was my turn. My small heart pounded in delight. I brushed my dark curls out from in front of my face, and stuck my nose straight up into the air, feeling that I was giving off the impression of full confidence. Then, I walked straight up to Santa and plopped gracefully down onto his lap.

“Yes, little girl? And what would you like for Christmas?” he asked, a full slightly toothless grin radiating on his face.

“Santa, I want some fancy lingerie,” I said nodding on the last word, so he realized this was my dream present and my only wish this year. Oddly, he looked taken back by the comment.

“You want… what?”

“I want some fancy lingerie. You know, garter belts, thongs, push-up bras, with pretty lace and ruffles.”

Santa glanced over at my mom, who was innocently smiling over at us, unable to decipher a single word in our conversation.

“Little girl, I don’t think I can get that for you,” he said, furrowing his brow, “Wouldn’t you like a nice Barbie instead?”

“No! I told you, I want fancy lingerie. Maybe you should write this down. Oh, and a little leather thrown in might be nice,” I said, staring fully into his deeply wrinkled face, attempting to engrave these words into his mind.

I think it was the leather part that did it. He suddenly burst out into loud, hearty laughter. Not the “ho, ho, ho” kind you imagine a respectable Santa to have, but the kind an alcoholic man would have after told a good dirty joke. This happened to scare me.

“What, is this some kind of joke?” he said to my mother after a twenty second period of laughter, “Did you tell her to do this? Very funny, ma’am, but I really have to do my job here. Off you go, little girl.”

He gave me a small push off of his knee while adjusting his now slightly crooked beard. I stared in full horror.

“I guess I’m not supposed to approve of you putting your little girl up to it. But that was too good. Fancy lingerie, for Christmas? You got me there,” he continued, motioning for the next person in line.

My mom looked thoroughly confused, darting her eyes repeatedly from me to Santa, lips slightly parted and right eyebrow risen to unfathomable heights. A fire burned within me as several small epiphanies exploded in my head. This wasn’t Santa Claus. I wouldn’t be getting my only wish for Christmas this year. The holiday was ruined.

Now, I was a seven year old, so my insulting skills aren’t, say, what they are today. I could only use what trash-talking vocabulary I had to throw fire into the imposter Santa’s face.

“You big meany! You’re not the real Santa, and I don’t like you! You’re a big stupid head! I hope your Christmas sucks. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

At these last words, my mom quickly grabbed my hand and rushed me away, her cheeks glowing red with embarrassment. I can’t remember exactly how, but I know that I got into more than enough trouble for my out-lashing and for not “discussing my choice of presents ahead of time”. It other words, time out, after time out, after no ice cream, after lecture, after time out.

It may just seem like a comical childhood story, but it was, in fact, an important turning point in my life. Up until this point, I had gotten everything I wanted. I believe every child has to make these realizations in their life at some point, but most just don’t make them all at the same time, or as profoundly as I had.

First, I realized that you can’t always get what you want. I know, exactly like the Rolling Stones song. Second, I came to the very momentous and very shocking acceptance of Santa’s lack of existence. Yeah, you know that was shocking to you, too. This also caused me to doubt in Christmas, to doubt in Jesus, and to doubt in religion entirely. I threw fits at church masses for the next few years, occasionally mentioning something under my breath about “Santa” and the “fancy lingerie”. But my last and most important realization was this: Life sucks.

So these were the epiphanies that affected the way I would go about my life, all linked to this small childish excerpt. Mostly, I learned to question everything, and to doubt all that I had believed in. I also think that when a person finds their path in life, it’s a pretty pivotal moment. It defines how life will treat them in the future, and how they will treat it in return. So, all sparked from an innocent story, I learned my way in the world: to be the questioner. Yes, I have learned much since, but this is what all set it off.

After this, I would learn that everything had a plan. Whatever it was, and whoever it was, I didn’t know, and I didn’t really care. I had become a devoted Agnostic, maybe an oxymoron, but it only seemed fit for me. Everything just seemed too orderly for it all not to have a plan. Otherwise, and I firmly believe this, the universe would have collapsed into eminent doom and chaos by now. It was my explanation as to why the Apocalypse hadn’t happened already.

Another thing I’ve come to realize is that I have something more to live for. I was meant for something great, a higher purpose, if you will. It’s not an issue of vanity, it’s just something I’ve felt deep inside all these years. It’s something I know in my heart to be true, as true as water runs clear and flames burn bright. It’s something I firmly believe in, something I know I have to fulfill, I know I have to finish-

D****t. Where did the time go?

Category number two: What I have loved.

Love is such a cliché. It’s all exchanges of deep, romantic sighs, entwined fingers, ever so slightly parted touching lips, caressing palms, and smiles shared during moonlit nights. It makes me gag. Yet, I’ve fallen a victim to it. Three times, to be exact.

The first was the one who was meant to be. And no, it wasn’t my highschool sweetheart. I’ve gone through that phase, just like everyone else. “I love you, I love you, oh, kiss me, sweety, I miss you, why don’t we talk as much anymore? Fine, I never really liked you anyways, we’re through”. And then, the next week, you’re with his best friend.

No, I’m not talking about that. This was fresh out of college (which, by the way, was University of Delaware, as the overachiever I am) and, very precisely, we met while I was working at my now fulltime job at a small antique shop on Foulk Road in Wilmington, first shift. Seriously, high aspirations.

He was browsing through the shop, picking up plenty of items that didn’t suit him the least bit. He occasionally glanced over at me, which caused me to instantly realize where this was going. He’d be one of the many male shoppers who enter the store solely to hit on me, then leave with nothing, not me and definitely not anything I could have sold to them. It took up time which I could be using for other customers, and therefore, money that the small shop couldn’t afford.

I’m not trying to set the impression that I was some kind of goddess. Far from it. I never found myself to be highly attractive, but I guess I can say I wasn’t ugly, either. I had blossomed into, well, um, whatever girls have to blossom into. But working in a shop in Wilmington made me realize why exactly I was the object of their affection. It was filled with stuffy business suits and middle aged housewives, a city where each young, attractive Catholic girl (yes, they were all Catholic, too) was kept indoors and away from any hormone-driven man who may threaten their virginity.

I was the rarely found exception to the rule, a twenty three year old with long, dark flowing hair and smokey brown eyes, working in plain, public sight. Of course, today, my flowing hair was tied in a tightly knit ponytail from just showering, and my eyes weren’t so smokey for lack of time to apply make-up. So, I was honestly baffled as to why this guy was going to hit on me. Don’t question it, I know how the story goes, he was going to.

After a few more dragging moments of searching and picking up random trinkets, he walked toward the counter, smile reaching from ear to ear across his face. See, I told you. I’d dealt with them before, and I’d have to deal with them again.

He wasn’t so bad looking, I realized, when standing only two feet away from him. He had equally dark hair to mine, but of course it was shorter, yet not too short. It was choppy and unkempt, so I could tell he was either laidback or just unhygienic. His eyes were a light auburn, almost red, reflecting the light in the room in tiny prisms hidden somewhere beneath his irises. He was pretty.

“Can you help me, miss?” he asked, using that charming smile that all guys used, yet to have any affect whatsoever on me. He revealed what he had been holding behind his back like a child revealing they had lost their first tooth. I now know he had been taking his time to find the most unfitting object in the store to present to me. It was a small ceramic pig playing a banjo with half of its left hind leg broken off. I decided he was either really funny, or really stupid. I decided to go with the benefit of the doubt and went with funny. No, wait, I completely ignored the benefit of the doubt, and went with stupid.

“Are… you sure you want that?” I asked, copying that right eyebrow raise I’d learned ever so well from my mother.

“No, actually,” he said, placing the disabled musical pig down to the side of the counter, “I’ll be perfectly honest, since I can see that didn’t exactly win you over. I just wanted to meet you.”

No, nevermind, he was funny.

“Well, it hasn’t left the store in quite some time, and I’ll be perfectly honest, I’m not sure it ever will. So I’ll tell you what, I’ll give it to you for free,” I answered, the queen of snappy comebacks that I am. Actually, I was just rather proud of myself for that one.

He balanced on his left leg, leaning on the edge of the counter. I could tell he was pretending to closely examine my proposition, when in fact, he was boosting his ego from realizing that he had actually won me over.

“Fine, I guess I’ll take it. Really, I think I’m starting to grow fond of him. He has a certain undeniable charm,” he said, smirking and scrutinizing his small, piggish friend, “Oh, by the way, I’m Ash. I know you want to, but say nothing about Pokémon. I get it more than enough.”

Now that’s just weird, Ash and Ember.

“Now that’s just weird, Ash and Ember,” I blurted out, having a nasty habit of being totally unable to contain my own thoughts, “Oh, I mean, I’m Ember.”

He laughed, instantly picking up on my screwed thought process. Oh, he had just met me, and was teasing me already?

“Yeah, that’s right, keep laughing. You know, Ash was actually gay in the anime?” I said, in need of a good retort to his mocking. I have a way of retaliating like a toddler when it comes to teasing.

“Hey, that was totally uncalled for. I can assure you, I’m not gay. A bit queer, maybe, but in a good way. So, I’ll come right out and say it,” he started.

“I thought you just said you weren’t gay,” I cut in. I just can’t help it when people set themselves up like that.

“Not that kind of coming out. I mean, I think we’re a good match. I’ve just met you, and you’ve already got me laughing. I’d be proud of myself, if I were you. Only a privileged few have that talent. So, when’s your break?”

“Twenty minutes. But it’s short.”

“Great, I’ll go get you coffee right now. It’ll save the trip.”

“But don’t you want to look around the store some more? You seemed to be having so much fun before.”

Ash raised his right eyebrow highly, now mocking both me and my mother.

“I like it with lots of cream, please,” I said, and we both laughed together- a full, genuine laugh. Realize, only a privileged few can get me to do that.

So this started Ash’s and my relationship. It was as though we had been made for each other. Yes, I’m going heavy on the cliché, but it’s true. He made me smile when no one else could, made my head spin only by holding my hand, made my heart soar when he looked me in the eyes to tell me he loved me.

He loved me. The first time he had said it was more touching than I could have imagined. We had been sitting on top of a brick ledge at night in Philly, watching the world pass by. His eyes were aimed toward the skies that seemed more vibrant than usual, if just for this night. I could tell he was thinking, thinking hard.

“What is it?” I asked, laying my head against his warm shoulder. He looked down at me and stroked my hair gently.

“I have something to tell you,” he said, in the softest whisper he could manage. His voice felt like velvet against my cheek. I waited patiently and silently, closing my eyes, feeling my eyelashes flutter against the cool October breeze.

“There’s a perfect midpoint, a connection,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “That two souls gain when they find each other.”

I glanced up at him, watching the words linger on his lips. Then, I closed my own again, so I could fully feel the impact they held on me.

“And I believe the word people use for that today,” he continued, running his free hand lightly up and down my back, and using the other to find my own hand. He laced his fingers through mine and squeezed tightly, “is ‘love’,” he finished, letting the last word drip out as liquid sugar.

I reached up and touched his cheek delicately, then let our lips touch in the tenderest of kisses.

Love doesn’t last forever. That’s another thing in the “learned” category I forgot to mention.

We went through several months, a picturesque couple, spending every free moment together, if only to gaze into each other’s eyes. We were in true love, a love that’s unbreakable, a love that’s bonded together by something stronger than all the forces of the earth.

Yeah, I know. I’m making myself sick, too.

Don’t worry, though. As time moves on, love flies by.

One day, Ash came home to my apartment (he was living with me and helping with the rent) with a letter. He sat down on the old burgundy coach, eyes lowered and a serious expression frozen in stone. I’d had a bad day at work, and I couldn’t handle another overdue bill. I dropped a glass I had been washing a bit too quickly into the sink, nearly splitting it down the center. Relieved that it had remained whole, I walked over to our makeshift living room/dining room and crossed my arms, standing to the side of the entrance.

“You paid the last rent, didn’t you?” I asked, frustration dripping like venom in my voice.

He continued only to sit there, now looking away, avoiding eye contact.

“There’s something I haven’t told you yet, and I know I should have, I know. But I haven’t, and I think I need to now,” he said, his voice almost choking up. I rolled my eyes at the drama he was displaying, and stood there impatiently.

He picked up the letter, and held it out to me. I grabbed it, and flipped it over, trying to discern what it was. “Angelina Cambridge” the name read. I didn’t know her, so I looked at him suspiciously, attempting to figure out what was going on. The city in the address read “Houston, TX”. Ash had lived there for a year, hadn’t he? I opened it along the already ripped seam and pulled out the folded paper.

“Ash,

It’s over, and we both know that. Or, at least, I know that you knew. So I’ve finally signed the damned divorce papers. I’d call you about it, but I know you’d hang up right away when you hear my voice. Or would your girlfriend pick up? I know you have one. I bet you haven’t even told her about us, have you?

So I hope you’re happy. We’re through, and you’ll never have to deal with me again. Have fun dealing with this new girlfriend of yours. I’m sure you two will end up exactly the same way.

Sorry if I sound bitter. I think I have reason to.

Love,

Angelina”

I dropped the letter as I finished reading her name. It felt as though a thousand needles had stabbed through my heart.

“What is this, do you want to explain this to me?” I shouted, rage seeping through every pore of my being. He remained still, taking every blow, only encouraging me to deliver more.

“Who’s this Angelina? She’s your, your- wife? And you’ve kept this from me for how long now?”

He sat stiffly and rigidly, eyes transfixed on his tightly clasped hands below.

“We’ve been separated for two years now. I left her long before I moved here,” he answered, plainly and quietly. I fed off of his fear.

“So you’ll tell me you love me, but you won’t bother to let me know you have a wife? Out of all things, a wife. And I’m living here with you, blindly believing every word you tell me, every lie I hear-“

“Ember, I do love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved another human. It wasn’t working out with Angelina and I, we weren’t meant for each other. We were young and we were stupid. We eloped two weeks after we met, and I became unhappy with her a month afterward. I have always been happy with you, Ember, always,” he said, meeting my eyes now. His voice sounded so passionate, yet his actions were unforgivable.

“You expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe this load of crap that’s being spoon fed to me?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything. I just thought you knew I love-“

“Get out. Get out of my apartment. You have two days. Get your things together, and leave,” I hissed, fiery spite rising from deep within my stomach.

“Ember, I’m trying to tell you, I love you!” he screamed, finally combating my merciless rage.

“Well, I don’t love you,” I lied, tears coming to my eyes, “If you can’t bother to tell me the truth, I’ll at least bother to tell you. I’ve never loved you, and I never will. Now get out of my sight before I call the police for trespassing.”

The tears flowed over the rims of my eyes in streams now. He mistook them for tears of anger, rather than frustration. I was frustrated with him, obviously, and with myself. Myself because I had believed him, even though maybe he was telling the truth. No, I knew he was telling the truth. His eyes shined with that honesty I had come to know so well.

But the needles he had released had stabbed my heart too severely. An unstoppable fire raged within me, and I couldn’t help but allow it to burn everything within sight.

“Get out, damn it!” I screamed, my voice cracking between sobs.

He rose silently from the couch and walked to the door. I could tell I had hurt him badly with my last blow. A single tear flowed down his cheek, although his expression was hardened, as though he was bracing himself against a painful attack. He turned the rusted knob and began to open the door. Then, he looked back at me for one last time.

“I loved you, Ember,” he said, his voice shaking, and left.

Oh God, what had I done?

So, as I said before, this was the one that was meant to be. I had screwed it up, and I accept that. I take full responsibility for my life screwing-up habits.

I have a way of treating my life like a bowl of sh-

Well, yeah. You get it.

But not anymore. Is it like I have a chance? Hanging on to the edge of a rope, one just tries not to fall off. I was hanging, all right.

I believe I also mentioned something before about having loved three people. I lied, I only loved one. I loved Ash, and no matter the circumstances, no matter how much I should hate him, I still do. Damn it, I still do.

I never loved the other two. It’s been twelve years since Ash and I had taken our separate ways, and I’ve never loved another person since. Not like I had Ash, anyways.

I had been with the others. The first was three years after Ash. He was a well grounded business man, working in the Astra Zeneca headquarters on 202. I was with him for stability, or so I told myself. Stability, funny, because once again, I was the other woman. Imagine that?

But this time, I knew it. He owned a sub-mansion in the cozy suburbs of Delaware in which he lived with his wife, and a town house just outside of New Castle where he let me stay. It wasn’t too long of a drive to the antique store, and I only had to pay 25% of the bills, such as electricity, phone, and the like. All in all, it was comfortable living. But I knew it couldn’t last forever.

There was no romance. My heart had been numbed from my relationship with Ash. It felt cold to me, incapable of comprehending love. Tom (that was his name, oh, the irony; Capanos? Get it?) had told me he loved me countless times. I’d smile at him, not actually responding, but pretending I returned his feelings. Again, I had to end it eventually. I could only think, his poor wife. If only she knew.

So I did. There was heartbreak, drama, and tears. None from my side, though. Tom was a bit of a sensitive guy. I lived on my own for the following years, trying desperately to make ends meet. I guess I sort of missed Tom. Or, at least, I missed Tom’s town house. Yet it was for the best, for all of us, that I was just barely scraping by on my own. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was karma. Who knows, who cares, it was only doldrums.

I had a hard time over the next few years, living on my own. It was hard. I craved closure, security, that same comfort I felt when I was with Ash. It was like love was a drug. I’d gotten addicted, and even though it had been so long ago, I was still having withdrawals. Badly. Worse than one would expect from a person who’d only loved once, and hadn’t loved since. Maybe it was because I was alone, maybe it was because it was finally hitting me, but I craved it. I needed it. I begged whatever great spirit there was in the sky to send someone along, anyone, that could keep me secure and love me like before. I begged and I prayed. Not for Ash, I couldn’t bare to think of him. Just for someone that I could call my own. Karma’s pretty merciless.

My conclusion? Love. It’s an unnecessary four letter word that serves no purpose other then to cause misery to those who don’t ask for it. There, how’s that for a definition?

Yet, deep down inside, I’m still the same hopeless romantic. D****t. Now, I’m just a slightly more resentful one. Slightly? An understatement.

So, as for my last relationship…

That was a mistake.

Category number three: What I have lost.

You probably thought I meant who I have lost. No, it has nothing to do with death. Maybe it does, in a more figurative sense. But for now, no one is going to die.

Death. How does that keep creeping up?

So I was curled up under the covers in the fetal position, shivering, not for the cold, but for the fear. I never even noticed the draft he sent in as his heavy hand slammed against the door, nearly cracking the wall in two. No, I wasn’t focused on the cold. It was the fear, welling up inside me, causing me to fidget wide-eyed like a small child hiding from the monster in the closet.

My monster had already stepped out, and he was about to attack again.

Jack ambled toward the bed, only slightly drunk this time. That only meant there was no chance of him missing. He had full consciousness of what he was doing. It made me hate him more, made me loathe the smell of whisky that always lingered on his breath.

Why was I with him again? Oh yeah, he’s sweet.

What the hell was I thinking?

That first day I’d met him at the bar, I had seen something of Ash in him. The same charming smile, the same shine to his eyes. I had also noticed that his eyes were pure, coal black, totally clashing with his platinum blonde hair. He intrigued me.

“Miss, I see you need a refill on your drink. Would you allow me to be so kind as to do the honors?” he asked, sitting down on the stool beside me.

Only slightly tipsy, I answered, “Sure, go ahead.”

We talked and talked and talked. I have no idea what about, because soon enough, I was flat out drunk. I only remember waking up in his apartment the next morning with a terrible headache. Apparently, we had spent a pretty amazing night together.

“You know, Ember, this might be too fast, but…”

Sure, it was too fast.

“I think I love you.”

Okay, so he hadn’t told me as passionately and romantically as Ash had, but what can you say? Ash had a way with words. I couldn’t expect all guys to.

I lay there, searching his eyes for a hint of a lie. I could spot one from a mile away, now.

Or, usually I could.

That morning, I had a hell of a hangover.

So I stopped searching, thinking, well, what could I lose? Once again, notice the irony. I kissed him as I had Ash, but sloppily, and without that sweet, tender compassion that I longed to feel again so dearly.

Jack’s lips tasted sour.

Closure, I told myself. I need closure. So I moved in with him. For the first few weeks, it wasn’t bad at all. We went to parties together, took long drives through the Pennsylvania countryside, and acted just as the perfect mock couple should.

Then I discovered Jack had a drinking problem.

He would come back to his apartment time and time again, drunk as a sailor. He’d throw a few punches around, but I could handle it. I was tough. After a few nights of this, I convinced him to get some help.

He went to an AA meeting. I said thank you, that’s all I could ask for. Yet, the meetings stopped after a second visit. And once again, he was back to staggering in through the door barely able to form coherent sentences.

And then I discovered Jack had an abuse problem.

He would visit me at work during my lunch break, bringing me a sandwich and a soda. I’d allow him to flirt with me in front of the other customers as we left to go to the storeroom, giving the impression of a happy, in love couple.

Then, behind those doors, it was hell. I’d ask him how his day was going. He’d say another job interview had failed. He’d say I kept him up all night with that TV. He’d say I was ruining every good chance he got, I was the cause of his every misfortune.

Behind those doors, he’d hit me. He’d hit me hard. I’d ask him to stop. He’d just hit me harder. I’d plead with him, I begged him, I’d let the tears drip salt into my open, screaming mouth.

He’d tell me to shut up, and he’d nearly crack my jaw line.

Closure, closure, closure. I needed closure.

Maybe he’d love me like Ash eventually, maybe he’d stop.

This was a daily ritual. At the apartment, it was a nightly ritual. I had come to live by his book, his abuse, his daily mistreatment of me. And I took it all, telling myself I needed closure, I need someone strong to protect me. Little did I know how easily I was being brainwashed.

Tonight, I wasn’t going to take it anymore. Tonight, I’d give him what he deserved. I’d let my final realization hit me. I realized that I didn’t need to be controlled and forced into submission. I had suffered the abuse of people, of love, of injustice in every way possible for too long. I had lost Ash, the only one who had been good to me. I had let my judgment slip out of reach, let it be washed away with the tears I cried each night from the pain I was forced to endure.

No, I’m not just talking about Jack. I meant it all. I was suffering a breakdown, a long awaited mental breakdown that I needed in order to purify myself from all the evils that had been inflicted upon me. I was letting my mind free fall into a black abyss of absent light, a hole of uncertainty, hoping that it could find its way toward some kind of sanity at the end.

The room began to oscillate wildly. I shook with that same raging fire which I thought had been put out so long ago. I screamed, I roared, I tore at the walls. I could only see the white of Jack’s eyes, large in rightly deserved panic.

This was Jack, who now embodied all the demons that haunted my life. He embodied my loss of Ash, my loss of the one person who I truly, deeply loved. He embodied all the years I had spent away from my love, twelve years I had wasted on fruitless nothings and doomed relationships. Twelve years of only trying to make ends meet, not thriving, not finding that one purpose I knew I was meant to fulfill. This demon was trying to change destiny, was trying to change the fate I craved so eagerly, so desperately. This demon was Lucifer himself, screwing with the stars.

I had lost all sanity. I had lost everything.

Jack finally registered that I was out to kill. He shook himself out of his shocked state, and forcefully shoved me against the wall by the door, raining punches onto my numbed face. I used my nails as claws, tearing apart his clothing and leaving streaks of blood wherever I could. Some, I’m sure, were on myself. He roared, his eyes merciless steel, devoid of all color and light. I took a few moments for myself to regain strength. As he continued to considerably bruise every inch of me he could, I meditated. I drew all the power I held inside me to my muscles, my arms, my fingertips. All the vehemence I could feel became centered in my heart. The fire was raging.

With one final burst of strength, I pushed Jack away; pushed Lucifer off of me. Apparently I was stronger than I thought, since he rammed against the opposite wall, head recoiling the hardest. He was knocked out cold and slowly dropped to the floor. I started to shake and sob. What do I do now?

I staggered to the door, slightly limping. Freedom. Finally, freedom. Freedom from all the pain, the struggle, and the fear.

Freedom from my own karma.

I slowly twisted the knob, having a difficult time since my fingers were shaking so violently. Then, I stepped out, limped to the steps, out the door, onto the cold December streets. The fire inside me kept me warm. It had diminished into a faint flame.

It was drizzling outside. The pure, clear drops felt good against my heated skin. I opened my mouth to taste the rain, to breath in the crisp night air.

Freedom tasted good.

My eyes were closed as I attempted to register the night’s events. I could hear the faint hum of cars pass by on semi-busy city streets. I reflected, returning to a more peaceful state of meditation. Jack was gone, not dead, but gone. He was gone from my life, along with my demons. I felt as though I had been reborn.

I smiled to myself. My heart felt cleansed. I no longer required the security that was never provided for me. I no longer required the love I had only once received.

I heard a car pull up on the other side of the road. Something inside me told me to open my eyes. I acquiesced, and opened them to see an old battered truck parked illegally in front of a stop sign. The door to the driver’s seat slowly opened, revealing a man clad in tattered black clothes.

I stepped forward, curiosity taking over common sense, in order to see who this man was. I squinted, attempting to fully take in the sight. A pair of vibrant, auburn eyes stared back at me.

Ash. It was Ash.

My heart soared at the sight of him. Why wasn’t he smiling? He’d found me. He should be smiling, he should be happy. We had found each other.

I saw him raise something sleek and silver toward me. I could barely make out what it was, as tears of joy rolled down my cheeks.

“Ash, I missed you, so much. God, I missed you-“

Suddenly, a resounding bang spread through the air and the wet city streets. I looked through my clouded eyes and tears to see bright scarlet dripping down my chest. I touched it, and it spread to my shaking hands.

I had been shot.

The End: Total Revision

So you might be wondering why I haven’t said a negative word about Ash yet. I should have, and I should be hating him, despising him, and cursing him with every chance I get. I should be thinking he’s the devil himself. No, that wouldn’t make sense. I’d gotten rid of my devil already. There wasn’t a place for him to be it.

But the truth?

Through all this, through what he had done to me, through trying to take my life-

I still loved him.

I know, it’s crazy. Maybe I’m totally disoriented from the whole situation. Maybe it’s the meds they’ve got me on.

So I’m telling the truth. I hate myself for it. A part of me hates him for it. But, I still love him.

D****t, I still love him.

I can hear voices.

“So is she going to be okay? You can help her, right?” says a troubled male voice.

“We’re doing everything we can,” answers a slightly frustrated, almost sympathetic female voice.

“And she’ll be fine.”

“We can’t promise that.”

“She’ll probably be fine.”

A pause.

“We can’t promise that, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“The shot partially penetrated her heart cavity. It damaged vital veins that carry oxygen directly to the heart. I’m sorry, sir, but the survival rate for that kind of shot is low.”

“But she’s going to make it,” he persisted, more shakily.

“Look, mister. We’re doing everything we can. I’ve repeated myself several times to you. I’m sorry about your friend, but I can’t help you personally. We’ll alert you if anything at all happens,” she said, obviously annoyed.

Another pause.

“Can I see her right now?” he asked slowly, trying to hold down erupting emotions in his throat.

The woman sighed, “Yes, sir, right now you can. I don’t think she can hear you. She’s asleep, and I’m guessing she has some kind of a concussion from the fall.”

“That’s fine.”

The voices stopped. Yeah, I knew they were talking about me. But I didn’t care. My lips felt too weak to move at the moment, and I personally thought it required too much energy to open my eyes. If they were my last few moments, I’d make the decisions as to what I’d do with my own senses. I also personally thought I deserved to be as lethargic as I wanted.

I had been lying there awake for nearly a half hour, I supposed, simply reviewing my life and these last few hours. I think everyone does it before they, well, you know. If they have the chance, that is.

God, I couldn’t even say it.

My breath was becoming noticeably shallow now. It’s like I was only a spectator, watching as my body slowly broke down before me.

And it was scary as hell.

I watched as my heart gradually started coming to a halt. I tasted the end, sour on my lips. I listened as my insides pounded against the floor- oh, wait, no, those were footsteps.

“Ember?” It was the man’s voice again, now more shaken than ever. I tried to discern who it was, still highly disoriented from the drugs. A family member, maybe. Yeah, right, they’d all moved to bright, sunny California long ago, it’d take hours for them to get here.

“Ember?” he repeated more anxiously, obviously trying to get some sort of response. He wasn’t going to get one. I didn’t want to waste my last bits of breath talking to some guy I couldn’t even recognize.

He waited for a while, maybe a full minute. I could hear shattered sobs coming from where he stood across the room.

“Ember, I’m so, so sorry,” he said quietly, barely audible through his sobs.

Oh God, it was Ash. Was I dreaming all this? I hoped so.

“You have no idea how much this is hurting me. I didn’t mean to. Honestly, I didn’t. I was… Ember, please keep breathing, please stay alive for me,” he sobbed. He continued, saying more, but none was recognizable. I had never seen a grown man cry like this before.

If this really was a dream, I wasn’t going to spoil it. I laid perfectly still and pretended to have already met my fate.

He collected himself, if barely. I imagined him shaking, hiding his face behind his hands as he covered his tears.

“Ember, I need you to stay. I never meant to do this to you. It was like some sick monster was moving my hands, forcing me to… to-“

I heard him collapse into the small chair at the end of the bed.

“You can’t even hear me, can you? God, I wish you could. I need you to hear me, Ember. I don’t want you to leave me like this, hating me and believing I wanted you dead. Never, I never wanted that.”

He waited, I guess again wishing for some kind of response. I refused to give him any sign of life.

“I guess I’ll explain myself. I have the time to, don’t I? Please, please try to hear me. It’s a sad excuse for what I’ve done. No, it’s no excuse. I’m not asking for you forgiveness, I don’t expect it. I’m just asking for you to hear me out. I don’t have anything else to say that won’t make you hate me more.”

He paused again, but this time I think it was for him to organize his thoughts. He breathed a heavy sigh, and then began his story.

“Everything started going downhill after that last night I saw you. I found my own apartment that I could barely afford and a job in a shipping company that paid next to nothing. Not to mention, I was miserable. God, I was miserable. I barely got by each day; not just because I had so little, but also because my heart broke again every time I thought of you, which wasn’t just every once in a while. Everything reminded me of you. When I opened my eyes in the morning, I saw the faint crescent moon in the sky under which I had told you I loved you. I’d breathe in the air, and remember how you once gave me a reason to breathe it. Every bit of life, every miniscule moment, reminded me of you, and what we could have had. It was heart wrenching to make it through one day.

“I couldn’t stand it for more than six months. I thought I had become numb from love, but secretly, I craved it. I needed what we had had again, and looked everywhere to find it. You have no idea how hard it was to search for something like that.”

Yes, I do.

“Eventually I resorted to moving back with Angelina. She seemed like my only option. It was a mistake. She fell in love with me again, and I couldn’t return any of her affections. I’d see her smile and try to compare it to yours, but I could only remember how the shine yours gave off radiated my heart. She was no comparison to you, never. And yet, I managed to go through years of this.

“We fought often. Eventually, it was every time I stood in the same room as her. I couldn’t stand the sight of her. I would never leave her, though. She was my only option. Somewhere in my screwed up mind, I believed that maybe someday Angelina and I could have what we had had. I stayed with her, hoping and waiting for a time when I could look into her eyes and see you. Obviously, it never came.

“I became sick. Mentally sick. I had who knows what kind of depression on top of plenty of other disorders. I never got a professional opinion on them, although it was painfully obvious I wasn’t okay. I could barely make it through a day without freaking out about the smallest things to anyone who happened to come into my way. Of course, Angelina suffered through it the most.

“She still loved me, though. I felt sorry for her, as her love was unrequited. I had no intention of returning it. Yet, she stayed with me through all of the verbal and emotional abuse I put her through. Or, at least I thought she had loved me. I’m pretty sure she thought so, too.

“I was the only source of income, and luckily my shipping job was easily transferable, so we moved back to Philly, hoping Angelina could find work there. She couldn’t. She had no previous skills and no real ambition to work. All the move did was raise the cost of living considerably. Sometimes, I skipped a day or two of eating, unable to make ends meet any other way. I was also more miserable than ever, since I was back in the city where we had shared so much. I had no idea if you were still here, though secretly, it was my only hope to see you that carried me through each day.

“Eventually, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I had an emotional breakdown at work and hit another man, breaking his jaw. Of course, I was fired. My life had hit rock bottom, and I didn’t see any chance of digging myself out of the hole I had created. I returned to home to Angelina that day and told her the news. She simply stared blankly at me, said nothing, and stood up to pack her bags. She returned to Texas to live with her parents that evening, using the only money we had left to pay for the flight. Everything was swirling in my head. I couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t think clearly. My world had collapsed, and my mind had gone with it.

“I lived out of my truck for a week, stumbling in and out of bars. I was kicked out of each one after a drink, though, because they figured out I had nothing to pay for it. God, I can’t even remember what was going through my head. My judgment had been lost entirely. I lived off of instinct, my thoughts racing through my head like an animal’s.

“Then, tonight, I saw you. All of my feelings built up inside me, raging like a fire. Instead of letting the love I deeply felt rise up, I viewed you as the source of everything that had gone wrong in my life. I had lost my only love, lost my job, lost my sanity- everything. I couldn’t handle it anymore. It was like a fire was ripping apart my soul, taking everything I felt and turning it into hate. So, I pulled over to the side of the road, and I… I…”

He began to cry, maybe for a good five minutes. Strangely enough, I was feeling oddly at peace.

“God, Ember, I am so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I only ever wanted to be with you. I- I love you, Ember. I always have, and I always will. But now, now it’s too late… D****t, you can’t do that to me. I can’t let you go. You can’t leave me like that, not twice. I couldn’t take that. Ember, I love you. Please don’t leave again.”

He continued sobbing. Through habit, I searched for a lie in his voice.

No, it sounded sincere.

I needed to look into his eyes to know for sure.

I pretended as though, by some great act of God, I had miraculously woken up. I heard him gasp from the foot of the bed as I dramatically opened my eyes and let out a deep breath.

“Ember… God, thank you…”

I looked into his face, which was much more sunken and troubled then it had once been. His cheek bones were more defined and hollowed, his face paler, his hair greyer- yet, his eyes still shined with that same vibrant auburn I remembered from so long ago. That fire was breathtaking.

I gazed deeply into them, searching for a lie.

No, only pure honesty shined back at me.

Wait. Was I sure?

I gazed deeper. Yes, I was.

“Ember,” he said again, “how much did you hear?”

I sighed and let myself be found out. It was impossible for me to hold in the truth like that.

“All of it.”

He smiled, looking as though he were about to laugh to mock my attempt at acting. Then, he quickly returned his face to a set serious expression, grave and apprehensive.

“And did you believe me?” he said, fear shadowed in the backs of his irises.

I could already feel my tear ducts overflowing. I smiled lightly and stared directly into those blazing eyes.

“Yes, I do,” I answered, a small tear trickling down my cheek.

A beautiful, radiant smile spread across his face. He stood up and slowly approached me, treating every step delicately as though stepping through a mine field. He stopped in front of me and knelt down next to me, level with my face. He reached out for my IV free hand and squeezed lightly.

“Ash?” I whispered in his ear.

“Yes?” he answered, voice slightly cracking.

“I still love you, too,” I said as softly as I could.

His smile only grew more radiant, if possible.

He leaned over and kissed me gently, our lips touching like crushed velvet.

A thousand memories soared back to me. Good ones, again. Finally.

Ash looked away, his eyes clouded over with something resembling deep sadness. Then, he looked again at me, his face stern.

“I’ll turn myself in. They don’t know that I did it. I hid the gun and drove you directly to the hospital.”

No, they couldn’t lock him up like that. Not right after I had found him again. Besides, I’m the only one who could press charges, right?

“Ash, listen. You’re not going to. You don’t need to.”

“I do. I deserve it, it’s my responsibility.”

“No, you’re not understanding me. I forbid you from it. It’s my will. If… if I die, I forbid you from turning yourself in. I will not let you get locked up like that, you couldn’t handle that. Understand?” I said, staring him directly in the eye.

He nodded slowly, incapable of hiding the guilt on his face.

I held his hand as tightly as my strength would allow. This was almost too perfect, almost impossibly perfect. I gazed again into his radiant fire eyes. Yes, too perfect-

Suddenly, the room spun wildly above me. I was drowning. I gasped for air, heaving as the world turned pitch black. I grasped for Ash’s hand, unable to make out my surrounding, unable to feel his warmth. Everything had turned cold. An incredible pain shot through me, sending daggers through my nerves. My heart and lungs seemed to be on fire. I was drowning, and I couldn’t find the surface.

I heard shouts all around me. Ash was practically screaming, yet his voice was hardy audible under the loud commands of nurses.

No one was helping to pull me out from under the water. My lungs were burning, my heart was burning, and I couldn’t put out the fire.

I was dying.

Oh God, I was dying.

No, I couldn’t go, you can’t do this to me.

I have a purpose! I haven’t lived long enough to find it out.

I can’t leave Ash again, I had just found him. This isn’t fair.

God, you can’t take me away from him, he’ll die without me.

You can’t let me leave like this, I love him. I need to live.

Damn it, I need to live!

Second Chances: A New Beginning

“Can I see her yet?”

“Yes, you can.”

“Is she asleep?”

“Probably, just try to be quiet. She needs all the rest she can get.”

The air was warm in this room. It smelled fresh, like flowers. Or Lysol. But I like flowers more.

I could hear the faint hum of a radiator, maybe a car door shutting somewhere in the distance. Wind whistled on the other side of the wall.

Feet touched the floor lightly as someone walked into the room and sat beside my bed silently.

I opened my eyes as carefully and slowly as I could, treating my eyelids as though they were newly born infants that must be handled with the most delicate touch. The room adjusted itself in my vision, gradually clearing the fog in my head.

“Hey, love,” Ash whispered from across the room, as if my waking might just be a mirage.

It finally hit me. I was alive.

“What… what happened?” I asked, my words slurring together.

Ash smiled gently, letting his eyes burn like peaceful candles.

“Your heart started to fail, so they took you into surgery immediately. It was extremely risky, but you made it. You’ve been recovering for a few days now,” he answered, talking as if to a child.

It was a miracle. Not the kind I thought they were when I was young, but the real kind. Whatever deity was out there, whatever force it was that controlled the universe, it had just granted me a miracle.

“It was a bit strange. For a minute there they were so sure you were dead, but then your heart started beating again. It was really amazing, actually,” he said, looking a bit confused, but satisfied.

Well, that seemed fitting enough.

I looked out the window. It was snowing. Small flakes clung to the window, lightly frosting it over. It looked as though the world had been reborn.

“It’s beautiful…” I whispered as quietly as I could, but just loud enough for Ash to hear.

“Yeah, it is,” he said, looking out with me, “and it’s for you. You’ve defeated death, Ember, and I believe this is your reward.”

I smiled, and let out a small, child-like laugh, “No, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Life is my reward. Don’t get me wrong, I love the snow.”

“And I love you,” he said softly, letting the words drip from his lips as liquid sugar.

My smile grew radiant. So, I had been given a second chance, for everything; a chance to love again and a chance to live again. I could handle this perfection.

I closed my eyes and held in the moment. Maybe this was my purpose. I still had a whole life ahead of me to figure it out, but deep down, I was pretty sure this had been it. I wasn’t famous and I hadn’t done anything totally world changing, yet I was meant for this, and I could feel it. I had defeated death. It was my fate to change the stars.

I opened my eyes and gazed into Ash’s face, into his own blazing fire eyes.

Epilogue: Post Mortem

I hate unpacking. Severely. I get in that don’t-bother-me-or-speak-to-me-‘cause-I’ll-lash-out-to-you-since-I-hate-unpacking mood (yes, I classify it as a mood) whenever forced to do it. This is exactly how I felt when Ash and I were unpacking our belongings in our newly bought two, let me repeat, two storey home. I’d become owner of the antique store, while Ash had gotten a fantastic job with a software designing company, giving us an ample amount of money that we spent on our beloved house. After we’d gotten back from our honeymoon, we saw a beautiful Victorian home for sale that I claimed I couldn’t live without. Ash gave in, after plenty of long talks on making too rash decisions.

So, as I was saying, we were unpacking, and I wasn’t being entirely too pleasant. Ash, irritated by my mood, was threatening to throw a stack of hard-backed books at me. He jokingly picked up the books and bent his arm back, when his eye wavered from me, as if distracted by something in the box. Turns out, he was.

“God, Ember, you were a twisted teenager,” he said, smirking as he lifted a slightly crumpled paper from the box, “’Post Mortem’. That’s Latin, right? Meaning ‘After Death’?”

I glared spiteful fire into his eyes as he continued to mock my teenaged morbidity.

“Let me see that,” I said, leaning over to grab it. He moved away and began to play a childish game of keep away with me. Of course, I remembered the picture perfectly, as though it had been engraved into my mind’s eye. Without even seeing it yet, I could see the adult-me, lying dead with lilies in hand in a casket surrounded by shadowy mourners. I felt slightly embarrassed that Ash was looking at this sad attempt of “expressing my emotions”.

Eventually, I was able to pin him down and steal the picture from him without tearing it. A feat, since we had been playing a delicate tug-o’-war.

And then I saw it. This was not the picture I remembered. Yes, it had me, it had the casket, it had the lilies- but it was entirely different. It still contained that otherworldly beauty, it still held every bit of majesty I remembered it to hold, but the scene had changed. My casket sat, abandoned, in the corner, as I gracefully walked away toward an unknown goal. Lilies lay scattered across the earth, some beginning to take root and rise up, blooming from the soil. My back was turned and my face did not show, but I understood it instantly. I was walking toward an unknown future. I was free to live again.

“This isn’t-“ I began to say, but Ash instantly quieted me.

“You don’t have to say it, Ember,” he said, smiling a knowing smile.

We both shared that secret, and continue to share it today. It wasn’t a life changing thing, even if it was a bit too far on the supernatural side for me. After all that had happened, it was something only to be expected. I recognize it only as a reminder, an award, even, for what I had done, and continue to do.

I had a future to live, even after death.