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Introductions are not necessary, for you know me all too well and I will come to know you soon enough. I am the painful truth which instills fear in some and acceptance in others. When we meet I will gently pick up your limp bones, carry the heavy weight of your body in my arms and caress your soul. The home of Ms Chelsea Dawner was one that I looked over often, situated on my list I must make sure to keep track of her progression through life until our appointed meeting. The light hit the grass today in a way which exposed the varying tints of deep green. The manicured lawn acted as a perfect stage when Chelsea was in her more youthful days; dancing in the warmth of the sun, racing the makeshift cars which she and her grandfather had crafted, lying in the dewy grass at night gazing at the stars, while only distracting herself from the painful truth which ate away at her diminishing body. Chelsea now spent most of her time indoors, propped up in bed like a doll where her servants came at her pleasure, catering to her every request. The room which she resided in boasted a high ceiling, intricately painted from which a crystal chandelier hung down, the light glistening as a beacon of warmth. I’ve never understood human beings, I see them as rather illogical. The intimacy which you strive for through connection only acts as a temporary source of love, perhaps some relations lasting longer than others (dependent on when I come in), yet, still temporary. I can see this temporary connection of love between Linda and Chelsea and I remain perplexed in their persistence to partake in such a relationship when one knows it won’t last. Chelsea’s mother, Linda, entered the room holding an eloquent arrangement of flowers, in the centre standing abruptly a king protea, the boldness of such a flower reflective of her personality as she bounced about the room, placing them on the windowsill and hopping into


the chair next to Chelsea. Flowers are another object which I have never understood; why invest in something only for it to perish? As I remained perplexed, Linda reached over the wires which squirmed themselves inside Chelsea, placing a sun bleached photograph in her tender hands, the edges tattered. Linda explained the day to her, Chelsea listening intently as she attempted to recall the moment. A pelican hopped over the quay as if too lazy to spread its wings. Chelsea admired its tan beak, the way it pointed down, reminding her of a wizard’s wand. She imagined the pointy end to hold powers of casting a spell. Chelsea giggled at her own imagination and wandered after the bird, flapping her arms and wiggling as she raced towards the creature. Imagination, the ability to dream of something to create an alternate world. This concept was new to me. Why would one need to create another world when they are already living in one? But that upturned expression on Chelsea’s face, imagination is what brought that to her. It is the same expression which I had seen when she would dance on the grass outside, the same expression which Linda and she shared now, looking at each other in sentiment. I attempted to mimic this shape, perhaps I too could feel what it means to be happy and break away from my constant state of darkness. Yet my face remains in its numb state, my facial muscles loose. This image of youth faded now as I stared at Chelsea’s pale yellow stained skin, the strain on her face from smiling being too much to uphold, a reminder of my presence. Chelsea stared longingly ahead, the flowers catching her eye and immediately suppressing the warmth of the moment.

Flowers of every kind lined the parameters of the hospital room which she found herself in,


fighting to conceal the undertone of bleach and hide the dull grey floors. Her skin was not so pale then. Cards lay next to Chelsea’s metal bed, the wishful thoughts of her family unable to cloud the screams of other patients heard behind the flimsy walls. Chelsea wished she could scream in pain, instead she lay in the bed like a china doll, tightly bound to it by the starched white sheets. Her gaze became fixed on an unfamiliar machine to me. The device​ ​seemed to allow for oxygen to reach her body, the metal wires floated down towards her swollen veins and up to her nostrils where she inhaled quickly in desperation for life. Her pupils grew larger as she stared, the light which once beamed in her was gone, her insides hollow. The lifeless look on her face ignited a feeling within me which I had never experienced before. A pit within my stomach developed, aching. With each breath of Chelsea, the pit deepened, I found myself longing to reignite the fire which burned inside her. Still staring at the drip of life fed to her, I reached towards the brightest flower. My arm extended downwards as I floated above, my fingers forming around the stem. As I grasped the flower its petals began to wilt and the stem drooped, turning to a deep brown as the petals dropped like confetti, hitting the sterile windowsill and crisping. A frustration raged within me. Of course, how could I ever touch something so beautiful and expect it to remain in such a state. I am death. My purpose is to kill. My purpose is to kill and yet I wish to experience the beauty and pain of life, the little moments. The dancing in the grass, the laughter, the flowers, the imaginary worlds, the pain in suffering. All torment trouble, wonder and amazement inhabits here. And all of this exists only because of life. Not death. Something which I will never, never, be able to live.

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Creative Writing Piece  
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