Yellow Chair Review: Issue 1

Page 42

Ever After By Aida Bode

_________________ I saw her white body half hanging on the bed where we had made love so many times. We had rented that apartment room and it had been our sanctuary. Now it was an open grave where she ended her life. I was numb as if death had captured me too. Why did she come here of all places? Why did she call me and didn'ʹt wait for me? Why was she so desperate to die like this? Her arms had been cut and the blood was crispy dry. For a moment I wished it was wine and that she'ʹd jump up on me, hug me and kiss me. Yet, life didn'ʹt make a move on her. It remained still and sad reminding me that death is not the opposite of life, or the absence of it -­‐‑ it is eternity, empty and lonely. I stopped looking at her and took a look around the room. Her clothes were on the burgundy carpet, taken off carelessly as if she was there to make love, the arm chair was moved too, as if she wanted to remind herself of my presence, the beige curtains were shut, yet the window was opened. I was numb again. She was there, red and white; lifeless. I felt the power of revenge in the room and moved myself back. I wanted to go out, but forgot that I had locked the door after I got in. As I was turning the key I took a last look at her. She was holding something in her hand. I walked toward her body and touched her. I was cold, just like her. It felt as if eternity with its loneliness was entering into my veins, too. I opened her hand. She had written on her palm: "ʺTake it!"ʺ and I noticed the ring fall on the floor. It didn'ʹt make a noise, as if that too was falling in a void taking me with it while I tried to reach for it. I felt my hand shake as I picked the ring from the floor. Life had come back to me, punishing me with her last good-­‐‑bye. I remembered when she once said that the ring is not the symbol of eternal love, but the eternal void that it holds within.


Yellow Chair Review

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