And what if this was all it is
Nice to meet you, old friend. I always knew you were there, somewhere between id and ego. You were the pulse of conscience acting before the brain could re-act, the voice sighing stop oh stop so softly, lost in the breeze, a myth. Now all is silent but the hissbump of the ventilator; you are not within but outwith. In. Out. I drift. But breathe. You wait beyond my sight. Today is the day for a choice to be made. Do you feel for yourself or only through us? Like childbirth the first time; the agony the not-knowing. You feel the wave crash down through and through, and think there is no bearing it; yet you do, and keep on bearing unbearable masses until eternity flares in the eyes of your child and the terror just... passes. You forget. Still we persist. I remember when young thinking "Go through all this mess? this horror? Gladly choose a life of pain then choose it again?" What a silly thing to be a living creature, replicating. It has not been a bad life. A lover, a child conceived. Unhappiness, given and received. And so, so much stupidity. If I could do it all over again would I hear your soft sigh stop oh stop? The boredom though, of eternal perfection, it has been fun to be flawed, sometimes. There is a small crease in the sheet beneath my thigh. I cannot move. I think I am suffering. I know I shall not wake and find life just a dream, a soft sigh whispered stop oh stop. I remember one spring, fresh wind heady with coconut from gorse blazing yellow in the sun. The sound of bees and skylarks a symphony, salt sweet tang of his mouth on my lips falling, falling into ecstacy. Sweet serendipity of time, space and being. Eternal. Lost. Breathe in. Out. Inspiration for a lifetime of love. And your soft sigh whispered stop oh stop. Even universes end. We never said goodbye. Here we are. The fraying begins. I feel the flutter of frail valves, delicate whisper of electricity as the connection between heart and soul loosens. Oh. Inarguable proof of the final doom. If there is a chance to escape, the body screams 'Run from that mess that horror, the agony of the not-knowing. Continue to continue to pray for one last chance.' Yet, strangely, no fear, here. It's a relief to surrender. I function despite myself, the puppets of pipes and wires, so I stare at the ceiling and wait. Nothing of me will resonate when I am gone. All ... this... will dissolve. I am tired. Bored, even. I have lost it all except the scent of gorse, sunshine, the texture of wool on bare thighs and a song without words. You have a question to ask me, but stop, oh stop not yet Bio: Sadie (@saccharinequeen) Sadie Maskery lives in Scotland by the sea with her family. Her writing will be found in various publications both online and in print, and she can be found on Twitter as @saccharinequeen where she describes herself, optimistically, as "functioning adequately ".