Trigger warning: Suicide
It was 3:19 or 3:20 or perhaps 3:21 am. She always preferred digital clocks, more precision and less mental clutter.
Besides grounding herself in time, she also knew she was home, in her bed and had forgotten to switch off the lights, the previous night. Space and time – ticked off! Not switching off lights when sleeping – ticked off!
There was a fan too, her eyes traced its gradual movement from partial right to a full left and then back again.
She was trying really hard to empty her mind before she could recreate the grandiose dream that had woken her up at 3:20 am. It made her nervous because she knew the longer she chose to not nurture the recreation, the faster it would fade away. She wanted it to be permanent but she knew it was.
Remnants of her dream were seeping through the barriers and she could no longer hold it away, she let her guard down, shut her eyes and let it engulf her.
Her heart was silk and glowing. Her heart was nostalgic. Her heart was happy.
The world was one long stretch of a fading evening. Serene, golden, prophetic and seeking. She started on a journey to the red mountain where they said that the moon was so large that it almost covered the entire sky.
Where is that mountain? Who told her about the moon? She did not know.
She found herself on the top floor of some ancient ruins. Mouldy, blackish grey, cracked, worn, torn, rough, tall columns, screaming of destruction but still exuberating an essence, a form, an appeal, a belonging.
She did not linger around to explore, she just knew. She knew she was home.
She stood right at the edge; her toes curved folding and inhaling the coldness of the floor. A gentle push would have sent her to her end but there was no death. There was no darkness. There was no murmur. A beautiful silence not unfolding, just present.
Had she a million words, a million ways, she would not have been able to express the sinking and lifting of her heart when she saw the red majestic mountain. The passionate, bleeding, dirty red. The top of the mountain touching the sky or the sky bowing down to the mountain – it was indiscernible. She yearned to be at its peak, to be one with it, to seek its counsel.
Several moments must have passed before she thought about her moon, about her journey, about the curious voice of her heart. Where is the moon? Who will she ask? She is the only existence. It was not long before, the sorcery of the place had showed her heart the way.
A rope bridge hanging just a little bit lower than the clouds was in sight, it would lead her straight to the mountain.
She was on the bridge, her heart pounding, she would meet the moon. The bridge swayed around with every step that she took. There was nothing but the trees wherever the eyes went. One misplaced step would take her away from her seeking. But, there was no death, no fear, no regrets.
The bridge no longer felt her and went back to its slumber.
She walked in silence, becoming one with her surroundings, melting away, shedding away her self, nothing mattered. She had nothing in her heart.
Her feet started to glow, her heart stopped, she knew the moon was rising. She quickly shut her eyes to let the light reach her inner eyes before she would meet the moon in any other form. She stood there motionless. She could feel the silver going up her body, turning her into a human diamond. It reached her closed eyes and her seeking had come to a halt.
She finally met the moon. The red mountain and the moon.
A strange fear gripped her heart when she opened her eyes again. She was back in her apartment. She felt nostalgic for the feeling of finally finding what she desperately looked for her entire life.
She felt incomplete again. She did not know what she had found in her dream, just that she had found it. Would she ever be able to find it in a life that she was living? She did not know.
Grieving, she lit a cigarette and took a deep breathe in. Her head felt light and she looked at the half moon through the modern architecture of city life. She felt disgusted. How could they let the imposter lights steal the thunder of the moon? She hastily finished her cigarette, not today, not today would it give her the satisfaction of dissociating from her life. As she got up to move away from the ugly city, she saw the reflection of a dark figure standing at the edge of the building, looking down, contemplating the jump. She waved at the shadow and shouted. “DON’T”
The shadow took a couple of steps back and disappeared. Was she hallucinating? Was she in a dream? Her heart was in her mouth. She looked at the reflection for a long time making sure it doesn’t come back. When her heart told her that it was safe to go back, she shut the door to the balcony, switched off the light and was ready to resign into a sleepless night when she heard a loud thud.
“She lived alone on the 10th floor” she heard muffled voices, sirens, the silence of the night was broken.
She wasn’t able to see anything, not able to feel anything.
“You are going to be okay” someone whispered.
She tried opening her eyes and all she could see was the moon getting tinier and tinier before she lost her consciousness. She had jumped.