Courage and Death

Courage

(noun) strength in the face of pain or grief.

The only thing holding me back from running to the side of the wooden jail that trapped her was the comforting hand on my shoulder. My heart longed to rush to the side of the coffin in tears, pointing my finger at all her sickening friends, screaming that they did this, it was their fault, and I wished they had all died that night instead of her. Instead, I stayed put, my face emotionless, my black clothes symbolizing not death, but the fact that she was the sun itself, the centre of the universe, what kept us warm and bright, and without her, there was nothing. Only black. In two years, I would be older than she was able to be, and that wasn’t fair. I was not allowed to reach seventeen if she was not. Ghosts walked up to me, their hands on my shoulders, whispering empty, bleached words of nonexistent support. Telling me that everything would be okay, that she was in a better place now. She was gone and without her, nothing was allowed to be okay ever again. The very least the world could do was be the worst it could possibly be, mourning her. She was the force that held everything together. She never moved, everything moved around her to suit her needs. I made a mental note to find a weapon to murder the wind. It wasn’t allowed to show up and make the weather pleasant. If she couldn’t enjoy it, it shouldn’t exist. I felt my body shift, I felt my arms being shoved inside the pocket of a familiar woolly coat, and my legs force themselves to move, my body being thrust into motion, to what I would describe as a brisk walk. Where my body was relocating to, my mind was not sure, but my heart was. There was only one place to go and its name was away. Anywhere as long as it was away. Somewhere grey and gloomy and sad. Somewhere where the weather paid her due respect, where people walked with their heads down, tears in their eyes, because they daren’t be happy when she couldn’t be. Somewhere where an overwhelming, suffocating sense of grief and heartache lingered in the air, just so I could blame my mood on the crappy weather. I found my body halt at a bridge, the rushing river under it nearly as angry as I was. L’appel du vide. Translated roughly to, ‘call of the void’. The urge to jump that most people felt when standing at the edge of a high area. Just because it was the most destiny-altering decision they could make. I heard the river growl, not at anyone in particular, just growling. It didn’t wish a particular person would leave it alone, just that it would be left alone. I could relate. My heart screamed to become one with it. I felt my arms pull my coat tighter around me and my body turn, walking away.