Short Stories

Ink Blots

     "Please, forgive me." The ink blots read as they bled onto the page when wetted by the salty tears welling up under his eyelids. It was a divine ornamented water fountain drizzling onto the paper. The lonesome ash was merely one, but despite her passing, her life crisis had just begun. She had voyaged over treacherous waters, grieving the rest of her remains along the way. A speck of sand rested on his windowsill, surveying him as he read the final goodbyes of his dearest friend. They were like two pieces of the same puzzle.
     "Not again." The words lingered on his tongue like a putrid taste had been left inside. His sorrow felt akin to Thor's hammer wielding a heap of guilt as he swung it down onto her nonexistent chest. It was as if she could hear his internal dialogue cursing her for passing before he did. The regret was eating away at her like a parasite. She felt that she could hardly call what happened an mistake considering she'd done it consciously. She really did love the way he loved. Perhaps he did forgive her and it was all in her head. Perhaps he understood her far more than she knew. She supposed she would stay here for a while.
     Before the wind had swept her off to visit her dear friend, she had met up with her brother. He was far less emotional than her friend was, but that was to be expected of him. He was never really the type to flaunt his emotions for the world to see. There were no tears, but only a deafening silence. He had unfocused his vision into an unadorned wall with a deadpan expression on his face. The plaster stared back at him with a death glare as it seethed under his gaze. It was as if they were having a blinking contest. Perhaps he was listening to their grandmother conversing in the adjacent room, or perhaps he was simply collecting his thoughts. The girl didn't need to see her brother cry because she knew how he really felt. She used to have a hint of resentment towards him for enjoying solitude more than her own company. They used to be like two peas in a pod. The sudden contrast left her feeling as if she were abandoned in a ditch, but she took the time to discover that he had done his best for her. The age gap of only two years was not merely enough for him to reject the parental role that he took on in her life. She had so much unbearable love for him.
"I forgive you." His trembling fingers gripped tightly onto her note, leaving a ruby-colored stain on the corner of the paper. His hands never did stop bleeding with how hard he worked.
"You dummy." He vocalized into the emptiness of the room in a manner that allowed his voice to betray him. She knew what he meant. She understood him better than anybody.
     Preceding her brother's visit, she had drifted to greet her father. He was, of course, with his new family that he had built up from the ground after his much-needed divorce. She watched him read her letter from afar, clinging onto it with a death grip. His clammy palms left wrinkles in the writing, but her work was never meant to be kept neat. He was aggrieved, but she felt a sense of relief with the knowledge that he had a support system.
"I understand." The voice of his wife elegantly floated past her lips, caressing her vocal cords upon their departure. She was a security blanket for him and the girl had accepted this.
"I don't." He answered truthfully, clasping his hand around the gray hairs growing on the top of his head. He was seemingly much less absent with his new children, but she supposed that his retirement had a part to play in that. She did not feel angry that he had found a new home, she just wished that he had enjoyed his old one. Unfortunately, he was married to a very difficult woman at the time. She understood this.
"I forgive you." The words fit together neatly enough for even a toddler to make out. She was content with her visit.
Prior to her interaction with her father, she had left to go find her mother. She read over her note carefully, again and again like a broken record. She gazed into it, boring holes into the paper. The woman swished a wine glass in her hand with glossed over irises and bloodshot sclera. Her lips were chapped and downturned. She was the type of woman that many would call narcissistic, but her daughter just called it extreme paranoia. It made the girl's heart hurt to know that her mother could never hood a relationship with even her own children. It was like a hole that had been carved out of her and stolen something vital with it: it must be lonely to live a life like that. She did not hate he, despite how badly the woman believed it to be true. She was truly a sick woman, but she was loved by somebody. Unfortunately, it wasn't about how much love she had for her, but how the love was given, received, and perceived. Love can truly be an apathetic emotion. Her daughter was not void of love, but simply tired.
"I forgive you." Her mother grazed her eyes over the words with an unreadable expression to her daughter. The paper crumpled inside her hand as it leaked out into a nearby, unpainted wall. The girl did not fully know how her mother felt, but she understood the woman far more than she wished she did.
She could feel the cold breeze brushing against every speck of her dry and brittle bones. A wave of relief had washed over her like a cold shower. The ground underneath her was roaming with tiny ants. Deciphering her feelings had always been a challenge, but she identified this as something similar to joy. Flowing through the wind during golden hour reminded her of being on the highway with the windows rolled down. It was like being smacked into the face into realizing that she was breathing real air. She could go anywhere she wanted. She could see anyone she pleased.
"All done." She remembered the mortician stealing her lively remains from the incinerator and putting them into a pretty box. It was much prettier than she felt she deserved, but the change of scenery was welcomed with open arms. Her cinders bashed against the sides in a not-so-gentle manner, but she was used to being manhandled. She had wondered if anyone would be burdened with the remnants of a nobody. Luckily, after a long-drawn ride, her encapsulation finally eased to a slow stop. She was laid still for a bit until a bright light shone in like a sunroof, releasing her to link entities with the sky.
The crematory was a horrible place. She thought of it fondly as she recollected the eyes of the blazing flames as they bore themselves into her burning flesh. The smoke rose as the heat of it ran through her nostrils and brushed against her tonsils. The air in her lungs made attempts to escape, scratching and clawing at the walls of her trachea. A nauseating odor offended the chamber, ricocheting off of the walls. She felt fortunate at the time that Thanatos had brushed his fingers against her shoulder before shoving her into the retort. She'd been scorching in it for about a century longer than she'd been alive for. The girl was left less than half the size than that of what she was when she entered, but puzzlingly enough, she felt the opposite. She couldn't discern why, but she noticed feeling much more meager when her body was still intact. She used to be rather small-boned, but that was nothing compared to what she was now. What caught her by surprise was that despite now being a pile of minuscule pieces, she felt at ease. Safe, even.
Before the events had taken place at the crematory, she had sat in her room. The girl curled up onto her bed, sinking into the sheets with a pen in hand. The ink glided on the surface with the smoothness of a marble rolling across the paper: the girl's mind was elsewhere, filing through about a million agonizing thoughts. She glossed over any consequences that might arise from her inability to shift her attention into better things. It was impossible to think of anything else. The envelopes became drenched with the dejected secretions from her tear ducts. Perhaps nobody would ever read them. Perhaps she didn't really care.
"Please, forgive me." The ink blots read as they bled onto the page when wetted by the salty tears welling up under her eyelids. And they would. In fact, they were never made to be separated at all.