Epilogue

It has come to the end: the conclusion of everything I have known. My life lays itself out all around me, while death looms above like a storm cloud. Insignificant episodes spring up from this mental scene. So many things happened that could have happened in another way. It might have been better. It might also have been worse, or maybe just different. Perhaps I should feel regret, but I don’t. I think about the times I was happy. I remember Mamma and Papà teaching me to swim when I was very young. I picture Victor and his night-sky eyes. I am glad that I lived. The choices I made and the choices made by others synchronised with possibly random situations and events to create this existence, which is now over. I do not fully understand why things evolved in the way that they did, but it doesn’t matter any more because now it is finished. The future is no longer in my hands. It belongs to others now.

It’s hard to breathe, but I am not scared to die. Living has become too difficult. It is time to let go. There is a prickling sensation in my hands and feet and shortly afterwards I can no longer feel them. A coldness spreads up my arms and legs until my whole body becomes numb. I hear the roar of the ocean. I wonder vaguely if it’s real, but I’m too tired to care. All these thoughts are exhausting. I close my eyes and sink into the soil beneath me. I feel nothing. Now everything is silent and black. I exhale, with difficulty, for the last time. My life dissolves and I join the Earth to slowly spin and fly around the sun.

Written by

Australian writer, environmental activist, hang-gliding assistant & former sailor, journalist & clown. Debut poetry collection available now. www.emmabriggs.net

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