Prologue Pt. 2 - Necklace and Dreams

              My face, laced with tears, shivered uncontrollably underneath my hands that cover my sorrow. Rocking back and forth on the uncomfortable yellow plastic hospital chair at 2 in the morning, there was no sound, no guided beds being pushed past the door for surgery, no elderly residents with their canes and walkers shuffling quickly to a bathroom, nothing but the monotonous, screaming heart monitor. My mouth was stuck in an O of silent aching and it couldn’t compare to the intense ripping of my insides. His bloody callused hand was clutched to my chest; his cold, lifeless hand.

              My tears landed upon his fist, dripping, off onto his already wet sheets. I watched the blood and water mix together and spread rapidly down my wrist. "Dad…" I choked as my whispering voice cracked in pain. With what little energy I had, I squeezed my eyes as tight as possible, grasping the edges of my chair, cutting off circulation to my fingers. My head fell forward and landed against the side of the hard mattress, sticking to the congealed blood and tears. I shut my mouth, grinding my teeth together trying to conceal my true feelings. Then, all went black, my body, tense from crying, relaxed, the misery subsided...all was calm...

            We were floating on a dinghy at sunset in the ocean all alone. He was smiling and he tucked a loose wisp of dark brown hair behind my ear. His serene voice said, "I love you." Rain began to pelt upon his face, every drop left an unwelcome crevice. I kept trying to remold him, to set him back right, but he became deformed in his seat. I was alone on the boat. All that was left of my father was a pile of mud and his necklace. A menacing wave crashed knocking me into the black thunderous waters. There was nothing to hold on to. I went under, back into my wavering consciousness...

            All I could see was white around me. Was it snowing? I was shivering and wet. My face was swollen, but oddly cool. I attempted to push my self up; and it was a poor attempt, my arms gave way. I lay there, not moving, exhausted. The morticians’ assistant found me asleep on the white tile floor with a necklace clutched in my hands at
4 am that morning.

The End

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