It’s a warm April night, and the clock is striking four. 

In the break of dawn, I turn the cold doorknob to my mother’s room. 

His exhausted face and his white coat greet me. All he gives me is a silent nod and a bowed head. And I know that soon, it will all be over. 

With hesitant little steps, I go to stand near her bed and I hold the freezing hands of my dying mother. 

This woman, my hero, and the source of all my misery, is now nothing but a motionless lump of flesh. 

This small, familiar home has been our world for as long as I can remember – my mother, myself, and the invisible tether that binds us together, a chain forged out of duty and obligation. 

Our bind was so tight that there could not be one without the other. 

I brush her gray hair away from her face. And I remember my first day of elementary school. That morning, we spent two hours picking the right shoes that matched the right skirt. And we tied my hair so tight that I felt strands tearing away from their roots. 

On my way home, I walked on the muddiest roads and tripped once to fall in a pile of construction debris. At the sight of me, my mother embraced me and wept for her ruined outfit. I snuggled into her and hoped for her to shed tears as many as the hairs that I had lost. 

And that is how I came to be. My mother, the blacksmith… and I, the metal. She melts me under her warmth and I mend to her desire. All I could do was burn her after every bend, hoping that one time she’ll let go of me. And in hopes of melting that chain, I burned myself away. 

“It’s time, we can’t delay it any further…” His icy voice jolts me out of my reverie. And I realize my cheeks are hot and damp with tears. Was I mourning the death of my mother? or my life that she stole from me? Either way, death will soon free us from each other. 

The rustling of the doctor’s coat, the rhythmic beeping of the machine, and the shallow breaths coming out of her open mouth. I can’t stand any of it anymore. I lay my head on her chest, and listen to the last beats of her heart. 

Thump… Thump… Thump….. “Now. Do it… Release us.” 

I fill my lungs, I close my fists, and I brace myself for the end. Suddenly, it happens—The machine shuts down, her eyes widen, a guttural cry pierces the stillness, then her form grows limp. 

Then, silence once again. Yet this time, the silence will go on for eternity. 

I lift my head, looking at anything other than her. And I stand to go. But her ice stone grip doesn’t let go of my hand. My chest tightens and I look around to the doctor. 

“She’s still alive! Do something… she’s gripping me!” I scream at him. “Calm down! Breathe and calm down. She’s dead, look… look! She’s not touching you Miss… just… Come and sit here okay?” 

I try to follow his hand but all I see now is white blurb rotating… slowly, around and around. 

Then….

White. White everywhere… I belong everywhere and nowhere. 

And most of all I don’t belong to anyone other than myself. 

In this chilling, desolate portrait of vastness, I am free.

Written by: « Siena ».