We all have something to remorse about. This story concentrates on how we say things that we don't mean and wish we could take them back.
He lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, still and emotionless. He eyes drifted over a plain white ceiling that only showed the age of time, fading in colour and cracking at the edges.
The light shone through the window and lit the room up, the rays of the sun warmed the room up and yet, he felt nothing; no warmth, no heat, nothing. He heard nothing and his mind was closed to the outside world. Silence enveloped him like a blanket and the only sound he could hear was the dull beating of his heart, a faint reminder that he was still alive.
Days passed by like the turning pages of a blank book - nothing was written, nothing was decided for him.
Laying there, staring at the ceiling, memories occupied his mind. They surfaced to the top and for a fleeting second showed him the past, before disappearing. Distant memories of past made him remember happiness and joy, what life was. Every memory still showed her, a constant reminder that she still existed, but only in his memories, for that is all they were - distant memories.
Why did this happen to him? Why could it have been him instead? Why did she have to suffer?
It was all an accident, it could have happened to someone else on that Monday in October, and yet it happened to him; luck was certainly playing unfairly for him to take her instead.