Bright Side

A Story by Veltar

People don't always act in distress situations the way we expect them too, but that doesn't mean they're bad people.

He got home, took off his shoes and went into the kitchen. She was sitting there as she would be sitting there every day when he got home. Two cups of coffee, freshly brewed, had been put on the table. He kissed her, put his coat away. They didn't say a word to each other, but that wasn't unusual. They didn't feel the need to fill every silence with conversation.

He took a sip of his coffee. It was cold, it had been out for hours. That was when he noticed that the silence was different. Something gloomy was over them, it was almost palpable. She stared straight into his eyes:

"It happened."

She didn't need to say anything more. They both were quite sure it was bound to happen. He stared back at her. The absence of emotions in their expressions would be shocking for an outsider, but they could say way more by looking at each other than most people could say within an hour.

"When did you find out?"

He noticed the dirty dishes from breakfast on the counter behind her. She had been sitting there for hours.

"This morning, an hour after you left, I think. I can't say for sure, time could be flying by or dragging on for all I notice. There was nothing unusual about his ways, he wasn't very quite or extremely exuberant as he is sometimes."

He had always been quick to correct small mistakes, to her annoyance, and even though he noticed it, he didn't act on it. What use was there for him to do such a thing? The reality of the ordeal was seeping through slowly, why should he need to speed it up? The slower the better. He was surprised to find his mind wandering about that. Maybe he could do that because he had been preparing for this for year. They had both seen the storm coming for a long time.

"The police came by and told it to me. They offered to send somebody to talk to, but I declined. I thought they would find it strange when I told them I would rather be alone right now, but they were very understanding. They left 10 minutes after they got here."

"Have you told anyone?"

"No, it's too early right now. I can't talk about it, it's still too fresh to wrap my head around. I thought about calling Sophie, but I couldn't. My body refuses to do anything, I've lost control."

He was quiet. Nobody they knew were informed, and he was glad she hadn't talked to anyone.

"They asked you to come down to the station, when you are ready. No need to be worried, just some simple routine procedures, they assured me."

"I'll leave in a minute. Do you want me to help you upstairs, so you can lie down for a bit?"

"That'd be nice."

Slowly he helped her get up and they shuffled through the living room, up the stairs and he put her to bed. He sat on the bed, stroking her hand for a short while, and he noticed she had already fallen in a deep sleep. He got up, closed the door and started back downstairs. He passed his room. He took a look inside, things looked as normal as could be. But it wouldn't be for long. This was the last peaceful moment they'll have had for a long time. Tomorrow and the weeks after there would be an endless stream of friends and family, offering condolences and help for a situation where help would never be on the way.