First I was clutching at the cool rail at the far end of the first coach trying to control my breathing. I remember precisely what time it was, because that was when I expired-; gone, ceased to be, died or call it what you want. I was on the train to Stratford on the Central Line at 4:00 pm. Rush hour. This was the time when students and workers gathered on the train and fixated their minds on getting home, that they forgot about everything else - including personal hygiene.
But not me, I confirmed mentally.
A couple of minutes after squeezing on the train, I was ducking my head to avoid the sweat-patched armpits boldly pushed at my face. Trying to hide the look of disgust that was permanently drawn across my face, I turned on the volume on my phone, listening to the soothing orchestra that I hardly heard the constant chatter beside me - I closed my eyes. My music taste had changed since that day. Since that day... My thoughts had dangerously spiralled out of control, will I still be normal after I admit it out loud? I mean, would anybody call me normal if I told them I know -
I jolted uncontrollably forward, knocking things and pushing people down with me, as the train faltered. After mumbling a few apologies to the passengers, I took my place back by the ventilation window. I was back to the same position although something had changed. The air was suffocating and I had strange vibes that sent shudders down my neck.
The musky smell had overwhelmed my senses numbing my brain and the breeze... It was smooth like a gentle hand as it caressed my neck and my shoulders. Hmm.. Warm. Wait -
" We're not moving!", a mum, I presumed, cried standing up with a look of panic growing in her eyes, her young toddler matching the same expression, most possibly because of the ascending sirens.
This realisation had also dawned over the other passengers as they grew fierce and loud; The wind...Almost like it's pleading with me, I pondered, like it wants to warn me about something. But what? I can't even think...
"...You know sometimes your brain doesn't work but you need it to because if it does it can save a lot of lives and well. Sad thing is you're all gonna die...", my thoughts that day had formed words and tumbled out of my mouth like an overflowing mug of tea. What crap came out of my mouth? Don't tell me I'm doing it again............mierda.
This takes us all the way to the start - this was when I saw him - this was when he answered my thoughts with just his presence. I usually ignored them, the...umm...the things, when they stand by their possession guarding it. I always told myself, it's not my problem. It's normal - it happens to everyone. It will to me one day.
However, as I cowered away from him, I started noticing others. Dark shadows with hollow eyes, each engrossing onto their person. Not another terrorist attack - that's been happening too often. So many lives at stake...And there's nothing I could do about it, I sighed. I dragged my eyes away from the ground, teeth grinding, and met my eyes with every passenger that was in my sight. All these people!
Controlling my anger wasn't an option for me but I had no choice, I needed to tell them the lies that made them comfortable - that allowed them to think they could go back to their lives without a second thought. On that account, I cleared my throat; unplugged my headphones; stood taller than my wilting position and peered into the little girl's frantic eyes. Through her view, she supposedly saw a fairly old lady, dressed in a smart suit with desiccated hair, poised to give a grand speech. I cleared my throat again, this time with the feeling of responsibility to announce this.
I started, " Hi. My name is Angelica. But that's hardly important. What I mumbled is just the precarious thoughts of an old lady afraid of her death at such a little disaster as a broken-down train. So please, don't take any heed of my - " I gulped down the sour bile that rose in my throat, unable to continue...
"Leave her alone. She doesn't have to die yet", I uttered. The shadow desperately cradled the child, unwilling to listen to me. I raised my voice even louder, "Leave my daughter alone! My daughter isn't going to die. Did you hear me?" I laughed through sobs as my hope smouldered by his manic grin. The unusual silence became conversations that diverted their attention to my madness. I felt pity, accusations, fear and rumours thrown at me through their words. My heart teetered, hesitated, as I faced my memories. Looking at that helpless child, it reminded me of my daughter. My dead daughter. The guilt overwhelmed me as I confronted my fears, " Her name was Amy. Beautiful she was - green eyes with honey blond hair. She took after my boyfriend. We broke-up, you see - my Amy wasn't planned, she was unwanted by him but much loved by me. Not enough, though, not enough. My selfish wants came first that night - finish this project and my promotion is already a step ahead. That's how I thought." I cackled knowing I've won my attention again. I empathised with most of the parents in the coach.
" I cooed her to sleep; singing a lullaby. She was full of energy, that one, babbling about her first day at school and meeting new friends. So lively, so full of innocence. Why did it have to be her? I was so sure she was going to become a handful when she went through her teenage years, complaining about boyfriends and then all too soon love, marriage and a family of her own." I sigh as I blink away my hot tears. " I don't know what possessed me to cook that night but I did. Noodles with sweet potato soup..Hmm, yum, her favourite. Amy would chomp it right down no matter how salty, hard or raw and praise me of my amazing cooking skills. Trust me it was dreadful! Worst cook in the world. I was so fixated on finishing the project - winning the project in fact - so I could earn more money, live a better life.. Selfish thoughts. When a phone call came from the office saying something went wrong, I couldn't resist. I sneaked out in the middle of the night, definite my baby was asleep." My sobs came all of a sudden. I knew why I was telling my story to strangers. You do that when you want to clear your guilty conscience before you die. Like to a reverend you have never met.
"I came back the next morning, groggy and not yet awake. I was scared stiff to discover police cars and ambulances parked outside my lawn. What stopped my heart was a tiny body on a sling driven away. My heart and hand trembled when I pulled the sheet away to have one last look at her face. She was still. Somehow sleeping and dead didn't look the same. All the emotion empty in her face and her lips blue. Her favourite colour." My voice was small now and tired but I needed to finish. So much to say, not enough time.
" The police took me away for a few days and interrogated me. I mechanically retold the events, aching to see my child. I had her corpse back the following day and a part of me died. I don't know what I was expecting but it was only then I cried. Her smile and open arms? Her laugh when she says, Mummy you fell for it! April Fools? All I got was a lifeless body with burns. It was an explosion from the gas cooker but my strong baby fought. It was suspected in the end she died from suffocation. Why that night? Why her? It's fate. Sooner or later you'll die. I told you this to warn you, we are going to die. Now. And there's nothing anyone can do about it." I face my audience and stare at them as they process this new information. My eyes settle on the mum who looks doubtful and I realise she has cuffed her daughters ears. Good, no child has to know their death, I think surely. I glance at my clock - 4:30 pm on Friday 30th April 2013. I inhale deeply in and out; in and out; in and out. I look at the unconvinced faces and I don't blame them. They can't see the reapers that have a chosen a person's soul to take. I give a toothy smile through my tears and say with a shaky voice, " I know when you're going to die. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. We are going to die. Believe me, it's true."
After a few minutes later, not only did the wind cry along with me, everyone else did. As soon as the explosions started.
The musky smell had overwhelmed my senses numbing my brain and the breeze... It was smooth like a gentle hand as it caressed my neck and my shoulders. Hmm.. Warm. Wait -
" We're not moving!", a mum, I presumed, cried standing up with a look of panic growing in her eyes, her young toddler matching the same expression, most possibly because of the ascending sirens.
This realisation had also dawned over the other passengers as they grew fierce and loud; The wind...Almost like it's pleading with me, I pondered, like it wants to warn me about something. But what? I can't even think...
"...You know sometimes your brain doesn't work but you need it to because if it does it can save a lot of lives and well. Sad thing is you're all gonna die...", my thoughts that day had formed words and tumbled out of my mouth like an overflowing mug of tea. What crap came out of my mouth? Don't tell me I'm doing it again............mierda.
This takes us all the way to the start - this was when I saw him - this was when he answered my thoughts with just his presence. I usually ignored them, the...umm...the things, when they stand by their possession guarding it. I always told myself, it's not my problem. It's normal - it happens to everyone. It will to me one day.
However, as I cowered away from him, I started noticing others. Dark shadows with hollow eyes, each engrossing onto their person. Not another terrorist attack - that's been happening too often. So many lives at stake...And there's nothing I could do about it, I sighed. I dragged my eyes away from the ground, teeth grinding, and met my eyes with every passenger that was in my sight. All these people!
Controlling my anger wasn't an option for me but I had no choice, I needed to tell them the lies that made them comfortable - that allowed them to think they could go back to their lives without a second thought. On that account, I cleared my throat; unplugged my headphones; stood taller than my wilting position and peered into the little girl's frantic eyes. Through her view, she supposedly saw a fairly old lady, dressed in a smart suit with desiccated hair, poised to give a grand speech. I cleared my throat again, this time with the feeling of responsibility to announce this.
I started, " Hi. My name is Angelica. But that's hardly important. What I mumbled is just the precarious thoughts of an old lady afraid of her death at such a little disaster as a broken-down train. So please, don't take any heed of my - " I gulped down the sour bile that rose in my throat, unable to continue...
"Leave her alone. She doesn't have to die yet", I uttered. The shadow desperately cradled the child, unwilling to listen to me. I raised my voice even louder, "Leave my daughter alone! My daughter isn't going to die. Did you hear me?" I laughed through sobs as my hope smouldered by his manic grin. The unusual silence became conversations that diverted their attention to my madness. I felt pity, accusations, fear and rumours thrown at me through their words. My heart teetered, hesitated, as I faced my memories. Looking at that helpless child, it reminded me of my daughter. My dead daughter. The guilt overwhelmed me as I confronted my fears, " Her name was Amy. Beautiful she was - green eyes with honey blond hair. She took after my boyfriend. We broke-up, you see - my Amy wasn't planned, she was unwanted by him but much loved by me. Not enough, though, not enough. My selfish wants came first that night - finish this project and my promotion is already a step ahead. That's how I thought." I cackled knowing I've won my attention again. I empathised with most of the parents in the coach.
" I cooed her to sleep; singing a lullaby. She was full of energy, that one, babbling about her first day at school and meeting new friends. So lively, so full of innocence. Why did it have to be her? I was so sure she was going to become a handful when she went through her teenage years, complaining about boyfriends and then all too soon love, marriage and a family of her own." I sigh as I blink away my hot tears. " I don't know what possessed me to cook that night but I did. Noodles with sweet potato soup..Hmm, yum, her favourite. Amy would chomp it right down no matter how salty, hard or raw and praise me of my amazing cooking skills. Trust me it was dreadful! Worst cook in the world. I was so fixated on finishing the project - winning the project in fact - so I could earn more money, live a better life.. Selfish thoughts. When a phone call came from the office saying something went wrong, I couldn't resist. I sneaked out in the middle of the night, definite my baby was asleep." My sobs came all of a sudden. I knew why I was telling my story to strangers. You do that when you want to clear your guilty conscience before you die. Like to a reverend you have never met.
"I came back the next morning, groggy and not yet awake. I was scared stiff to discover police cars and ambulances parked outside my lawn. What stopped my heart was a tiny body on a sling driven away. My heart and hand trembled when I pulled the sheet away to have one last look at her face. She was still. Somehow sleeping and dead didn't look the same. All the emotion empty in her face and her lips blue. Her favourite colour." My voice was small now and tired but I needed to finish. So much to say, not enough time.
" The police took me away for a few days and interrogated me. I mechanically retold the events, aching to see my child. I had her corpse back the following day and a part of me died. I don't know what I was expecting but it was only then I cried. Her smile and open arms? Her laugh when she says, Mummy you fell for it! April Fools? All I got was a lifeless body with burns. It was an explosion from the gas cooker but my strong baby fought. It was suspected in the end she died from suffocation. Why that night? Why her? It's fate. Sooner or later you'll die. I told you this to warn you, we are going to die. Now. And there's nothing anyone can do about it." I face my audience and stare at them as they process this new information. My eyes settle on the mum who looks doubtful and I realise she has cuffed her daughters ears. Good, no child has to know their death, I think surely. I glance at my clock - 4:30 pm on Friday 30th April 2013. I inhale deeply in and out; in and out; in and out. I look at the unconvinced faces and I don't blame them. They can't see the reapers that have a chosen a person's soul to take. I give a toothy smile through my tears and say with a shaky voice, " I know when you're going to die. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. We are going to die. Believe me, it's true."
After a few minutes later, not only did the wind cry along with me, everyone else did. As soon as the explosions started.
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