Losing someone is the worst feeling. Loss carves out a deep, hollow pocket. There's no magical way to fill it, no medicine or Band-Aid or surgery to cure it. I suppose that over time you get used to it, but the feeling never totally goes away. And the more time you spend on earth, the more pockets you'll collect. But it's part of living. It's life. --Katherine Svensen
Almost there.
Almost.
there.
Frantically, the hooded man strained himself into the alley, where a blaring ambulance stood.
It couldn't be her. It couldn't. No, she must have been all right. It had to be someone else.
Yet there was an aroma of fear enveloping his mind. What if?
No, he did not want to find out who was inside the ambulance. Please, not her. Please, God.
Sirens shrieking like a high-pitched wail of a baby, the ambulance was all that the man could see and hear.
Who was in that ambulance?
The man could take it no longer. Tugging at the paramedic's stiffly white sleeve, the man stuttered desperately, "W-who is insi-side that ambula-lance?"
The answer was one that immediately brought sorrow. Shattered the man's heart into bits.
The woman--
Macy--
was dead.
Suicide.
A bellow of agony escaped from the abyss of the man's throat, trembling the Earth all over.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
After Life
Ficção Adolescente“To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come...” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
