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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.    

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Yellow Chair  Review    

Profile for Yellow Chair Review

Yellow Chair Review: Issue 1  

Welcome to the inaugural issue of the Yellow Chair Review! For more information about YCR please visit www.yellowchairreview.com

Yellow Chair Review: Issue 1  

Welcome to the inaugural issue of the Yellow Chair Review! For more information about YCR please visit www.yellowchairreview.com

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