The sound of the screeching brakes filled her ears. Her eyes, large and terrified, stared fixedly at the sky above as she felt her body lifted painfully from her seat, crashing head-first through the windshield before her. The glass shattered, its sound pristine to her.
She had never seen the moon so bright before.
Her body slammed against the asphalt, skidding against the wet tar for a few meters before coming to a stop. Her breathing came labouredly. She mustered what little strength she had and turned on her back, her blue eyes cast towards the moon, blood smearing the corners of her vision.
It was beautiful.
-
At that moment, he shuddered. Something was wrong.
-
They rushed her through the doors of the hospital, covered in cuts and bruises, her limbs contorted at strange angles. Doctors shouted unfamiliar words to one another. She blinked back tears and clutched her fist tighter, the cool metal of her wedding ring ebbing its way into a deep gash on her palm. She saw them place an air mask over her face. She let the sweet, sickly anesthesia wash over her, her body crawling into slumber.
I need you.
-
He felt it again. This time he was certain. Something was very wrong.
He wanted to get back to her immediately, but how could he explain to his boss that he needed to leave one of their biggest clients without a concrete reason? He glanced at his plane ticket. His flight was scheduled for tomorrow evening at seven. He exhaled slowly and tried to focus on his laptop screen. ‘it’s probably nothing’ he told himself, but the feeling nagged on at him and he found himself staring at a blank screen, the battery having died out and him having not noticed. It was not like him to space out. But this was nothing he had ever experienced before.
He had to get back.
-
The once-clean scalpels were now bloodied and the surgeons were now drained. Several long hours had passed, and nothing seemed any better. Her pulse beat on, slow and irregular, but none the less it beated.
How was one to tell a person that they were going to die?
She awoke from her chemically-induced unconsciousness to find herself pumped full of morphine, a slight throbbing pain filling her being. The morphine made it hard to understand exactly what they were saying.. Something about the lungs... the brain? But one thing struck home. They said she would probably not make it through the next five hours. They had made that clear. They had made that very clear.
She wanted him here. How could she die without ever saying goodbye? She felt tears well up in her eyes, her room turning into one giant fishbowl. She stretched out a ghastly pale arm, the only thing that seemed to still work, and reached for her bedside phone. She couldn’t quite reach it but managed to get her fingers tangled in it’s cord. She tugged on it and it flopped gently onto her bed. Propping the receiver against her pillow, she pressed against the keys rhythmically.
As the tears fell from her eyes, she found she had been holding her breath. She exhaled gently and heard a soft sob escape her lips.
She wasn’t supposed to die at twenty-five.
-
His phone vibrated softly. It was an unfamiliar number. He wished it had been her. Had it been her, he would have excused himself from the meeting that was taking place and answered. However, it wasn’t. So he let it ring. There was always voicemail.
-
She had reached his voicemail. It prompted her to leave a message and she let out another small cry. Composing herself, she began to speak all she had intended to say. She didn’t want to work him up, she kept her sentences casual. Her voice was hoarse and her throat hurt. Her lungs struggled to draw air. But she spoke, forcing every last syllable out. She found herself worrying about the pointless things. Like how on their first date he had mentioned Paris. And how she was sorry for wrecking the car. Her emotions got rather hard to control, sobs escaping her lips and betraying her illusion of calm.
She had always kept things close to herself. It was her way.
-
It had been a grueling conference, a whole three and a half hours of torture. He leaned back in the taxi seat and proceeded to check for any new voice messages. A familiar voice buzzed over the line.
It was her.
“Its me. By the time you hear this, I don’t know if I’ll still be alive. I’m calling from St Altis’. You know, the one where Jenny used to work at. There was an accident. I’m sorry I wrecked the car,”
Here he heard her crying. Soft, controlled cries of a haunting quality. His brow furrowed, his concern glistening in his eyes.
“Fuck the stupid car.” She sniffed. “Fuck this shit. I don’t want to die. Not yet. I never got to see paris, remember? You told me we’d see paris,” she let out a short joyless laugh. “I don’t want to leave you. It’s just.. Not fair.”
A loud sob broke her monologue.
“Did you see the sky last night, baby? I never saw the moon shine so bright. I don’t even know how it happened. It was all Wham. And next thing I know, I see the moon. And I’ve never seen it more beautiful. Go look at the moon tonight. Tell me how it looks. I love you. I promise I won’t let me die until you tell me about that moon.”
With that, the voice changed. It was a man talking now, going on about some contract or another. He let the phone slide to his lap, he didn’t want to hear anything else.
Many miles away, a heart stopped beating, a gold wedding ring slipped from a limp hand. Her eyes were shut, her lifeless body covered.
It really was that simple.
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