Margaret Baldwin is my name. There’s no certainty on how old I am. Dead? Not yet i suppose. But I’m close to it, that’s a fact.
I have been standing behind this door for an eternity now and it seems that my staying will last for some more, This place, horrid. Lights? There’s none. Cold? Freezing to the bone. I can’t move, it feels like those dreams where you can’t scream of horror, no voice nor sound will come out your mouth. Where you want to run to escape a fatal destiny but your legs move slowly and get slower with every second that passes and feel like taking a thousand years long to move.
I’m alone now but haven’t always been. There have been 2 opportunities now where I have had the company of different people. One, the first one, was an old man. Old, older, so old he couldn't even remember his age. His face showed infinite centuries which had passed though him endless days and night that he could no longer enjoy. He did not speak and it was useless for me to speak to him. His eyes nevertheless revealed the beauty he had once had.
Such glitter was ever to be seen but in those huge pair of great lighthouses. Immense, blinding and serious at all times but carried within a certain touch of joy.
He didn't stay long but those were times were I could be, or some part of me, unaware of me situation and the atmosphere which surrounded my suffering being. Somehow his eyes shone with a kind of blissful light and revealed to mine the truth about the room. It was my height tall and there was space just enough for us both. The walls didn't seem like solid material and they weren't either stable nor immutable. I could just imagine it re-shaped when someone else came in. Along with his years ran long times of his bides in this hole.
There was a door, more likely a gate. It worked as entrance and exit. That's all I knew about it. He was gone.
Some long and deep thinking time passed be and the tribal shaped metal opened,the darkness gave some little space, she entered. 9? 10? I couldn't dare to ask, not even after she did with her soft but high pitched voice. I couldn't answer more accurately than "Much more than you I'm sure" She chuckled.
That lovely and tranquil sound lasted until the end in my mind, for my old brain and eyes weren't able to take hold of her face for long. My memory of her, lies in my ears. Once in a while I remember. Once in a while I'm comforted by her.
My chest hurts. My head bursts. This place has given me enough to think about and gave me another picture of life that I hadn't seen when I was...well, alive? I guess I'm not now. It just doesn't feel like it. There's no joy to enjoy. Even colors have stayed behind.
Today I spit blood. Dark and thick. My blood, a bad signal. The end must be close. So much suffering is unfair. I want it to end...to end...My bones are already too weak to bear my own weight. I can feel my scalp, my veins are wrinkled and voluminous. I shake. I tremble. Oh God, can you hear me? Will you listen to my prayers? Do something! Tears splashed over my shrunken cheeks. Their taste I could not even differ. I can sense bags below my eyes.
My lungs have compressed themselves and won't let sufficient air get in. I think I've given my last breath let go...
Down below, in another dimension, in a hospital room a machine made a monotonous high pitched sound. The body lied peacefully immobile. Stone cold. A clean white sheet covered the departed.
