Liberated by Ketner Abi & Kalicicki Missy

Author:Ketner, Abi & Kalicicki, Missy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: AbiandMissy
Published: 2017-07-07T04:00:00+00:00

It’s over now. I’m dead. I’ve made peace with my life, and this isn’t such a bad way to go. I fought hard and gave it my best shot. But sometimes we fall short of our goals and they die right along with us. Or, in this case, with me.

I thought it’d be brighter on this side, but it’s not. Just a blur of grays and blacks flashing over my head. Occasionally, there’s a smudge of light, and I grin with hope. Maybe I’m finally headed home, to my dad and Keegan, Alyssa and Grace. Maybe I’ll finally have that eternal peace I’ve always dreamt of. Wilson can’t touch me here, and I’m so tired of fighting, of aching with hunger, of losing loved ones. Wilson wanted me alive … but I find gratification and peace knowing he’s not getting what he wants. I hope he falls over dead of shock when he hears the news. My mom used to tell me that in heaven, there were no tears or sickness or pain. I always believed her … only now, I’m not so sure I’m there yet.

If I’m here, why isn’t anyone greeting me? Where are those pearly gates everyone talks so much about?

I attempt to stretch my fingers, but they’re lead. All those times I listened to my mom. Maybe she was wrong about heaven after all. But I’m not ready to believe that, not yet.

I’m happy enough in this dark dreamland. I readily block out the angry voices, the piercing sounds of a firefight. In a weird sort of way, I feel caught between two planets, stretched by gravity. I laugh. If anyone could hear the conversation I’m having with myself, they’d think I’m a lunatic.

My mind drifts to other things. Like the way my dad used to sit bent over his desk, poring over paperwork at night. His lamp would burn into the late hours. Sometimes, I’d interrupt, and he’d stop to have a bowl of cereal with me in the kitchen. He always slurped his milk when he was done, which reminds me of Zeus. Mom seemed to know when we were up late, and she’d scold Dad in the morning. He would wink at me like it was our secret because we both knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

Mom. I’m not angry with her anymore, even though I don’t understand her. You can’t be angry in heaven anyway, right? A weird image creeps into my head, and I allow it, having nothing else to do. It’s of Mom, in the study, reading Dad’s papers after he passed. Her forehead was wrinkled, and she kept pushing her hair away from her face, murmuring words that were once his. Beside her was a small box of things made out of glass. I only knew that because when I startled her from the doorway, her elbow bumped into them, and one of them shattered inside the box. She cursed, which she never did. I suspected it was the drugs she tried her hardest to hide from me.

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