Page 51 - North Star Literary & Art Magazine

The Sound of May
Caroline Miner
I had put a lot of thought into how I would die. I know, it’s way too pessimistic and depressing, but I discovered that thinking of the worse-case scenario is the best way to cope with an unstable life. Any death I was dealt with would never be as bad as the unthinkable; the scenarios that were too macabre even for me to imagine. I was fine with drowning, getting struck by lightning, of being blown away in a blaze of atomic glory.
All of my fantasies involve me dying. I never thought living would be the worst outcome.
I never thought the end would be this quiet. The concrete above my head crumbled over the wooden supports, the pebbles bouncing right in front of my slippers. My ears barely caught the sound, the ringing of the bombs still deafening my own train of thought. My whole body was trembling against the cold floors,
when had I fallen to the ground?
my breath straining to leave my lungs. I laid there shivering, the flannel of my pajamas doing nothing to prevent the onslaught of shock,
concrete crumbs continuing to crumble to the ground like industrial snowflakes. I couldn’t
hear anything but my haggard breaths-
god it was so quiet.
How could this be happening? I had practiced this scenario before, fully expecting
I would embrace the end with open arms and a smile on my face. When the sirens were raised I would lay myself on the itchy grass, hands behind my head, taking one last breath of clean air. I would become a shadow before the next.
But my body, stupid and trecherous, had gone against my mind and now I was alive
after the end. Alone. And in my cold
so very cold
cellar. I struggled to my knees then back onto my feet. Making my way over to the staircase was harder than it should’ve been, every step I
took was shaky, threatening to send me back down to the floor if I dared another. But I had to know. At the top my hand made its way to the wooden door’s handle, copper and cold, strug- gling to turn. I pushed, I yanked, I screamed, clawing my nails against the stupid thing until finally I crumbled, falling to the final step.
I was trapped.
I was exhausted. My throat ached from the screams and my fingers were bloodied from beating at the door. That tiny bit of optimism in me whispered at least you’re alive and the misery inside of me raised it’s hand to block my ears. I wanted to die so desperately before; my heart had a plan but my body had fought against it and now we were both stuck, doomed to die a prolonged and miserable death. Our corpse would be brittle when
anyone found us.
if
NORTH STAR 49