| 7 Luuuucia. I lower the wine bottle from my lips and my head cocks to the side. Was that just Sol that I heard? The airy, translucent voice wasn�t merely the wind, was it? Luuuucia. I heard it again. Oh, God. He has heard me from beyond the grave. From the bedroom, I hear a loud bang. Someone�s in my room. I creep slowly and quietly to the hall, the wine bottle tightly clutched in my right hand. There is silence. I inch forward, and as I pass the bathroom, something catches my eye. The bathroom is empty, but the shower curtain is swaying with an unearthly wind. As soon as my feet hit the tiled bathroom floor, the shower curtain ceases to move. I freeze. Turning to leave, I come face to face with the medicine cabinet�s mirror. Instead of seeing myself in the mirror, Sol�s taunting face stares at me. At first, I�m shocked. How can this be? Sol�s dead. Dead. He committed suicide over two weeks ago. With this, my anger starts to build once again. �Bastard!� I scream, and I hurl the half-full bottle of wine at the mirror. The glass shivers and cracks as wine floods the room. Dark red droplets fall to the tiled floor and the spatter thunders in my ears. The room appears to be bleeding. My own enraged face is visible through the broken shards in the mirror. I swear bitterly under my breath. With hands shaking, I touch my forehead. I�m burning up. Luuuucia, I hear Sol call again and I throw open the medicine cabinet. �Stop it, Sol!� I scream as I fondle several pill bottles. After taking off the caps of all of the bottles, I dump their contents onto the counter top. I stare at their multicoloured shells. My drunkenness causes the pills to sway and bump into each other, and they appear to be alive. I just want Sol�s voice to get out of my head. I only need a few sleeping pills. One by one, I swallow each and every one of the pills without bothering to consider the consequences. I gag on their bitter taste. Several pills stick and my throat burns as if it has been touched by a cigarette. By the last rough pill, I�ve begun to teeter unsteadily on my two feet. How strange. I feel like an inexperienced toddler, who�s trying out their legs for the first time. I reel across the hall and grasp on to anything that I can find. There is a haze about the room. It feels as if I�ve stepped into a fog. I stumble through the apartment, vaguely recognizing our many possessions. My possessions now, I guess. Who will take them when I die? I�m overcome with worry. Would Blythe step in and take everything, thinking she has a right to all of our memories? Would she dare? The lights in the apartment are dim, and I can hardly see anymore. I try to find a light switch, but they all seem to elude my fingertips. Shadows loom toward me, tall giants with disapproving gestures. Sinister eyes glare from deep inside the darkness that has befallen me. I need light. My hands shake and panic takes over my entire body. I rush through the living room and grasp on to the balcony doorhandle. Throwing open the door, I am immersed in a blinding, piercing light. It feels almost like my skin will melt off of my bones. As if I have been tossed recklessly into the hot depths of the sun. My hands shade my face, but it does nothing to block the sun�s strong rays. I�m overcome with a sudden wave of exhaustion. �I just need to sit,� I say wearily. My voice is thin and brittle. The cold cement ground chills me to my core. Is this what Sol felt like only moments before he took his own life? I hope so. I wish that ass felt this cold, lifeless and inhuman. Lying on my back, the chill causes me to reconsider my choice of seating. If only I wasn�t so tired. My neck can�t support my head�s weight any longer, and my head tilts to the left. This is what death feels like. I feel empty, both in body and mind. My thoughts are getting more and more sporadic and less and less rational. I blink slowly. Blink. Blink. Blinky-blink. My breathing becomes shallow and my lungs ache. A dull pain builds in the pit of my stomach, and I know time is growing short. Lucia Delonte. Dead at 26, predeceased by her cowardly husband of five years. Is that how I want to be remembered? Do I want to been seen as another lonely woman, dying of a broken heart and a deadly mixture of alcohol and one too many pills? I didn�t intend to take my life, but now that it�s imminent, it doesn�t bother me as much as it should. I guess it�s too late to change the course of history. The world is growing dim. I take one last look at the world around me, and one last inhalation. I feel my lungs for the final time. My heart beats quickly and then fades. Eyelids fluttering like doomed moths on kitchen window ledges on late spring days, I slip away. I close my eyes and suddenly - |