Lost And Serenity

Its silver rim was shaking, to the point that the golden liquid was already sloshing and spilling onto the floor. It would cease for a moment, like a receding storm, but it would tremble and spill again like the storm was just getting angrier, until there was no more to spill. Until all the beer had plummeted down onto the floor, making the room smell like a liquor vomit.

The mug was held by a hand, gripping tightly against its body, almost crashing it, breaking it into tiny, invisible splinters. Jeremy Yu, a sheriff, a strong man, was crying. His head couldn’t be seen for it slacked against his revolting chest. However, the chair was strong enough to tolerate too much shaking.

No one would be able to guess why. Maybe the sheriff was angry and he could no longer hold it back, maybe he’s just acting crazy like a drunken mad man, like an alcoholic, or maybe the passing of his wife was too painful to leave it behind and move over his life. That thought, like no one had died. He was focusing on it. But she wasn’t coming back. Not in a week, or a month, or a year. She wasn’t coming back…forever. Her wife’s face was in danger of being forgotten like she never existed.

Jem was not as strong as you might think. He was strong, yes, but he’s a man who hadn’t just lost a wife but also his children: three year-old Tanya and his baby boy who was just born two months ago. No one would survive a brutal crash that that they had as it rolled down the hill side God-knows how many times. Their pain couldn’t be felt, nor recalled, nor investigated. He could just imagine,

Slowly, he stood up, his face a mess, slamming his mug against the table with a brittle implosion. He didn’t care if the mug split into two, or was it the table. He walked across the room and pushed the sliding door aside. It was suddenly cold. He was in the second floor, their house artfully balancing on a hill slope, staring into an inconspicuous veranda. No one could possibly tell time, but it was sure to be dark, dark enough to be night.

He was forcing back another surge of loneliness with a new makeshift bravery that was strong enough to keep him standing there. He observed tiny flickers of light from the distant city below. Its massive structures were devoured by the distance, too tiny to be relevant with anyone’s personal dealings as far away as this house.

In silence, he tried to move one of his limbs, checking if he could still feel, pulling it up and down. Dinner time, he remembered. It was only dinnertime that this view would be as lovely and serene as this. After dinner, he and his wife would go out here to breathe some fresh night air and embrace each other to brush away the cold. It was always a busy day. It was here that they mutually called out for an escape, comforted by the thought that Tanya and the baby were safe inside the house.

He lifted his right limb, grunting as he heaved it with his hands over the railings, and then, like a freak accident, he fell over with a heavy thud, and then rolled down continuously along the slope, his body occasionally bouncing over the concrete debris, thinking only of three faces over the braking pain that was battering his soul. The limped body stopped midway, unconscious.
The night was cold, yet lovely and tranquil. And finally, he found his peace in there- alive or not.

Lost and Serenity

His back ached, like all his bones were in pieces. He couldn’t budge either, only able to lift his eyelids and feel the pain in his eyes at the light that burst like fire. At first, he thought he was drowning, by the blur that blocked his sight like he was submerged in an ocean. Vague. He tasted salt. But then he realized he could breathe. That’s fine. Seconds passed and his vision went clear.

He could feel and see with familiarity, thinking, remembering where he was last. It was his room, he thought. No… it was their room. He painfully turned his head aside and saw the bed side where his wife was supposed to be asleep. It was bright in the morning though. But upon realizing that no one’s there, that he was still alone, he wanted to scream- only when he hadn’t heard a voice.

He tried to listen, his body stiff in concentration. He was hearing indistinct voices outside the room, like they were having a suppressed conversation. Suddenly everything went audible as the door yanked open. He jerked.

“Dad, mama told me to wake you up.” Tanya was talking with her arms holding the heavy door from slamming back.

“Tanya?” He couldn’t believe her voice. It felt… distant.

“Tanya?” he asked again, slightly leaning forward.

“Mama!” Tanya called.

Later, a woman hurried beside her. There were the two of them, standing like angels on the doorway: Tanya and her mother.

“Mama?” he asked. Now, it was his voice that felt distant.

“Jem, what’s wrong?” she asked with concern while walking towards the bed he was sitting. “You’ll be late.”

As soon as she sat beside him, Jem looked at her face, probing for a wound, a scratch, or a scraped flesh; her nose, her mouth, lips, her ears. They’re all perfect, as it were for four years that they’ve been together. No wounds, he whispered to himself. No traces of accident.

At first, he was afraid to touch anything fearing that once he touched her, she would rearrange like a smoke.

“Where are we, really?” He squinted around the room, trying to find something bizarre or out of place.

“What are you talking about?” She laughed as he turned back to her and began poking on the tip of her nose.

“You must be… you must be dead. The accident. I saw you. I saw Tanya.” He could barely speak. He was sobbing lightly.

His wife hugged him. “It’s okay, Jem. It’s okay. You must have a very, very bad nightmare. For now, you must move. You’ll be really late.”

She kissed him on the forehead, and hurried outside the room.

His sobbing stopped. He couldn’t breathe. He was too happy, too joyous, to breathe. It was a dream. Everything was a dream.

“Mama?” he called, just to be sure, as he began to walk towards the open door, struggling to untangle the sheet off his feet.

“Yes? Feeling fine now?” Her voice was sweet, homey, wafting together with the comforting smell of cooking breakfast.

He was dreaming. He wanted to jump, only wondering if it would be good for his knees and aching body.

“Yes, I think so,” he answered gleefully as he sprinted and disappeared from the door.

It was his heaven.