Wednesday 9th May 2012
The cold floor of grief
TINY, this thing called life. With each hour, each minute, lives are lost: illness, accident, disease and age stopping the breathing of many. It is a short walk, a scratch in time. Yet each of these scratches, each sweet moment that is a life, means everything to us. It is all we have.
And into each life enter the lives of others: parents, friends, siblings, offspring. All know of the brevity, all sing the will of being alive. We grow and dance and speak and play, putting aside thoughts of what awaits. It is indeed all we have, but all have it and all should be able to live that one short walk free of fear, breathing in the fullness of our time.
Oh Tom. Tom.
You tried to show me how to stand on your board of wheels and scoot across the ground. You would not sit by your sister on the bus, but you knew to lean very close to her across the bed, when she stuck out her tongue at you for one final time.
Oh Tom, dearest of friends. You gave me laughter and wisdom and Weetabix, asking for nothing in return, except that I teach you to fly, which I was unable to do. Oh Tom.
The guards led me away from the cliff-top. I was put in the back of a van, where I slumped on the floor. Black-clothed officers took up seats to either side. The door was slammed shut.
A female voice said I should sit up, for it would be uncomfortable on the metal floor, but I remained where I was: never again to the bidding of any giant.
The van did not move. I could hear other cages moving away, the sounds of footsteps and voices, some raised in temper, though I could not hear what was being said and had no desire to listen.
Once more the rear door was opened and I felt the draught of cool air. Had I had the will, I might have hurled myself towards the gap in an attempt to escape, but there was no point, no reason.
Even when a hand lightly touched my shoulder, I ignored it. Even when he spoke, I paid him no heed.
“Virgulle, it’s me. They’ve said I can come with you.”
END OF PART TWO