ELIO
Caitlin Kuang [1] Vera was young when I first saw her, not yet in her teenage years. Dressed in a white gossamer dress, she looked like someone who would be portrayed in neoclassical paintings, and I could not help but wonder what thick brushstrokes an artist would lay upon the canvas to trace out the chestnut curls draped across her shoulder. In her arms was a porcelain doll. She had no intention of straightening the unkempt filaments of the doll’s hair and instead silently observed her surroundings with wide eyes. For a moment, our eyes met. Hers, full of childish innocence and curiosity, and mine, already lethargic from what I have seen of the mortal world. Death approached her, and she greeted me with a smile. [2] That day, I took an elderly woman and gazed as her spirit drifted away in the halls of the hospital, evaporating like a dewdrop under the zenith of the midsummer sun. Only when I turned around did I see her by my side, carrying her doll. I inclined my head with the slightest move, my eyes tracing her frail figure from the hem of her dress to her eyes: untainted pools of innocence. She did not flinch. For long, I have wondered what Death’s gaze looked like, what my gaze looked like. Indifferent, callous, devoid of warmth. This pair of eyes, like the suffocating depths of the sea, once brought warriors to their knees and kings to the brink of tears. But they seemed to have had no effect on her. “What? You want to leave with me?” My voice was shards and daggers and fragile ice, not softened by the slightest for her sake. Death has not softened for anyone, ever. Death knows no clemency. She continued staring, not moving an inch, only shaking her head almost imperceptibly as a soundless reply. For a moment, there was only silence. No one wants to leave with Death. I flicked my wrist as an attempt to chase her away, but she unexpectedly spoke. Her voice was soft, timid, reminding me of a fawn that knows only to run wild in the groves, but not to flee from headlights. “Will you stay with me?” A contemptuous laugh escaped from my lips, echoing in the blended realities of the mortal world and what came after. A smile emerged upon my lips, bereft of humor. “I’m always by everyone’s side, dancing with all,” I replied, sparing a glance away from her and instead towards the now-empty hallway. The woman’s soul had dissipated into the realms of afterlife, without a single indication that she once existed. I danced with her as well, some time, some day, until she fell at my feet, as all would.
48
Dana Hall
