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taken her to hospital but they say it’s better not to visit yet.” My heart felt suspended then gave a violent jerk, shocking me back into my body. She was not dead, but as my father spoke my dream hung before me so powerfully that I thought he could see it too. Margaret had died and was calling to us all from the other place. A veil of grey mist separated her from us; it was hard for her to reach through it. We were queuing to see her one by one and were talking and laughing together as usual, only she could no longer share our jokes. When it came to my turn my hand kept groping through the mist to find hers, but somehow we never touched. If she had anything to say to me, it remained with her. I glanced at my father, feeling Margaret already gone beyond my reach. He looked tired and harassed, as though he wished I would go away. I did, saying nothing about the dream. * Slowly, surprisingly, Margaret recovered. I went back to medical school and longed to show her my success. I held back, for fear of making her feel bad. Her sleepwalking was never mentioned but from time there were other accidents, as my father called them. Once she took too many aspirins; another time she cut her wrists with a scalpel in the nurses’ home. After that she had to leave nursing. She drifted from job to job, suffering from what the doctors called depression. I saw her less ÉCLAT FICTION

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MAY 2012

Profile for Eclat Fiction

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

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