Sindhu M., 10th Grade
Life and Death
“Mama, will you tell me a story?” the little boy said weakly. He coughed, the force of it causing him to double over. The machines surrounding him beeped steadily through the fit, unconcerned of the effect they were having on him. They reminded him of the dark truth that lay beneath the sparkling white sheets, beneath his frail ribcage, beneath the words of useless comfort given to him. The tall women in the white had told him he would be alright – she and her stethoscope (she’d told him that’s what it was called) came in everyday and told him that he would get better, that he’d be out of the bed in no time at all, to never lose help. But he’d seen her say it to the boy who had been in the bed across from him. The boy who never spoken a word to him and never would again.
“Of course, dear. Which one do you want to hear tonight?” his mother asked.
“Why don’t you pick one this time? Maybe something like the one you told me last night,” he said, settling back into his pillow.
“Hmmmm let’s see. I think I’ve got the perfect one, are you ready for it?” she asked, her smile masking the sadness in her eyes. She could barely remember when her little boy was strong and healthy. She could barely remember when he would smile longer than five seconds and belt out his loud and contagious laugh. Now all that he seemed to be able to do was suffer.
He nodded slightly and closed his eyes. His mother laid her hand on his, hoping to convey comfort. She was the only one with him – she always had been. Even though he had always been a bit sickly, he’d really been hit soon after his father had died. It had all happened so soon – there had been the funeral to prepare for, there were guests coming over, and suddenly there was a call that her little boy had started coughing blood, shaking so hard it didn’t seem humanly possible.
He’d put up as tough of a fight as any seven year old could. It had been six months since the incident.
The doctor had told her earlier that day that he probably wouldn’t make it to the next sunrise.
“There is a legend among the ancient people, a legend from the very beginnings of the earth. They speak of two lovers, one a beacon of light and the other a symbol of darkness and desperation. They were as old as the very beginnings of the universe, even older than time itself. They were the very reasons the things cycled through time as they did, and they loved each other with everything that they had.
“But like all star-crossed lovers, there was one barrier that separated them. If they were ever to touch in any way, be it a kiss or even a slight brush of hands, worlds would collapse and unspeakable things would happen. Entire planets would be destroyed, stars would crumble into dust, and the universe would collapse on itself. Regardless of all the destruction, however, the two lovers would continue to exist, bound together in a cruel twist of fate.
“During a rather uneventful day, one of them noticed a strange movement occurring a tiny planet. Taken by deep concern, she swooped down and landed amongst the fanciful flora that she had planted herself. She hid behind a tree and watched the strange pink blob of flesh drag itself onto its legs and stand almost erect, only to fall back down into a motionless heap. Intrigued now, she carefully crept forward and poked the thing, giving it some of her essence to take with it in the long run. As the creature began to crawl forward again, she nodded with a sense of self-satisfaction and left, eager to tell her lover about her discovery.
“Over the years, the two lovers took it as a sort of hobby to watch these new-found creatures. They sat together in a special spot right on top of them and watched, sharing stories of what they’d seen the days before then and sitting in silence at the just the right moments. They would sit close, so close that the only thing that separated them was a tiny little atom, but they would never ever dare to touch. They would sit and they would watch and they would curse the universe for everything they were put through. As time went by, however, they never stopped loving each other.
“As time went on, she began to notice how much her lover was enjoying these strange pink creatures. She noticed the way his eyes lit up when they came out of their primitive caves, how he smiled and laugh whenever they managed to upset a creature three times their size, how he glowed with something in between pride and joy when the tiny things managed to create fire for the first time. So when the time came that the last white hair fell from the now old and feeble creature, she swooped down once more and sent it along its way to her lover, a gift from her to him. It became an option that closely seconded an actual touch, one that allowed for her to see the light in her lovers eyes gleam so brightly it sent her heart soaring across the universe and back. Soon, however, he was needed elsewhere across the universe, at a planet with sharp-eared and green-blooded intellectual beings. Knowing he would not come back for quite some time, the lovers sat together in silence, tears quietly slipping down their face as they reached for a touch that would never exist.
“It slowly became a ritual of theirs. She would send him the humans (as the lovers had named them), he would travel back once every year, and they would love each other with all their hearts. As new things sprouted across the planet, she sent them to him as well, showing him the amazing things that young world produced. She sent him everything from flowers to birds to animals, and he would keep each and every single one of them close to his heart. Over time, they grew fond of the names that the humans would call them, and they adopted the titles as their own. The light and bright one became known as Life, and her lover, the dark yet lovely one became known as Death. And although they would never touch and know love’s tender embrace, Life continues to send Death gifts, and Death continues to keep them forever.”
She stopped, the tale finished at last. The little boy’s breaths had grown slower and weaker as if each new one caused more pain than the one before. The machines around him began to beep with less frequency. She squeezed his hand, unaware of the tears streaming down her face. The little boy turned his head to look at her, smiling softly.
“Don’t cry, Mama. He’s going to be really happy with his present this time.” And he exhaled for the last time.
“Mama, will you tell me a story?” the little boy said weakly. He coughed, the force of it causing him to double over. The machines surrounding him beeped steadily through the fit, unconcerned of the effect they were having on him. They reminded him of the dark truth that lay beneath the sparkling white sheets, beneath his frail ribcage, beneath the words of useless comfort given to him. The tall women in the white had told him he would be alright – she and her stethoscope (she’d told him that’s what it was called) came in everyday and told him that he would get better, that he’d be out of the bed in no time at all, to never lose help. But he’d seen her say it to the boy who had been in the bed across from him. The boy who never spoken a word to him and never would again.
“Of course, dear. Which one do you want to hear tonight?” his mother asked.
“Why don’t you pick one this time? Maybe something like the one you told me last night,” he said, settling back into his pillow.
“Hmmmm let’s see. I think I’ve got the perfect one, are you ready for it?” she asked, her smile masking the sadness in her eyes. She could barely remember when her little boy was strong and healthy. She could barely remember when he would smile longer than five seconds and belt out his loud and contagious laugh. Now all that he seemed to be able to do was suffer.
He nodded slightly and closed his eyes. His mother laid her hand on his, hoping to convey comfort. She was the only one with him – she always had been. Even though he had always been a bit sickly, he’d really been hit soon after his father had died. It had all happened so soon – there had been the funeral to prepare for, there were guests coming over, and suddenly there was a call that her little boy had started coughing blood, shaking so hard it didn’t seem humanly possible.
He’d put up as tough of a fight as any seven year old could. It had been six months since the incident.
The doctor had told her earlier that day that he probably wouldn’t make it to the next sunrise.
“There is a legend among the ancient people, a legend from the very beginnings of the earth. They speak of two lovers, one a beacon of light and the other a symbol of darkness and desperation. They were as old as the very beginnings of the universe, even older than time itself. They were the very reasons the things cycled through time as they did, and they loved each other with everything that they had.
“But like all star-crossed lovers, there was one barrier that separated them. If they were ever to touch in any way, be it a kiss or even a slight brush of hands, worlds would collapse and unspeakable things would happen. Entire planets would be destroyed, stars would crumble into dust, and the universe would collapse on itself. Regardless of all the destruction, however, the two lovers would continue to exist, bound together in a cruel twist of fate.
“During a rather uneventful day, one of them noticed a strange movement occurring a tiny planet. Taken by deep concern, she swooped down and landed amongst the fanciful flora that she had planted herself. She hid behind a tree and watched the strange pink blob of flesh drag itself onto its legs and stand almost erect, only to fall back down into a motionless heap. Intrigued now, she carefully crept forward and poked the thing, giving it some of her essence to take with it in the long run. As the creature began to crawl forward again, she nodded with a sense of self-satisfaction and left, eager to tell her lover about her discovery.
“Over the years, the two lovers took it as a sort of hobby to watch these new-found creatures. They sat together in a special spot right on top of them and watched, sharing stories of what they’d seen the days before then and sitting in silence at the just the right moments. They would sit close, so close that the only thing that separated them was a tiny little atom, but they would never ever dare to touch. They would sit and they would watch and they would curse the universe for everything they were put through. As time went by, however, they never stopped loving each other.
“As time went on, she began to notice how much her lover was enjoying these strange pink creatures. She noticed the way his eyes lit up when they came out of their primitive caves, how he smiled and laugh whenever they managed to upset a creature three times their size, how he glowed with something in between pride and joy when the tiny things managed to create fire for the first time. So when the time came that the last white hair fell from the now old and feeble creature, she swooped down once more and sent it along its way to her lover, a gift from her to him. It became an option that closely seconded an actual touch, one that allowed for her to see the light in her lovers eyes gleam so brightly it sent her heart soaring across the universe and back. Soon, however, he was needed elsewhere across the universe, at a planet with sharp-eared and green-blooded intellectual beings. Knowing he would not come back for quite some time, the lovers sat together in silence, tears quietly slipping down their face as they reached for a touch that would never exist.
“It slowly became a ritual of theirs. She would send him the humans (as the lovers had named them), he would travel back once every year, and they would love each other with all their hearts. As new things sprouted across the planet, she sent them to him as well, showing him the amazing things that young world produced. She sent him everything from flowers to birds to animals, and he would keep each and every single one of them close to his heart. Over time, they grew fond of the names that the humans would call them, and they adopted the titles as their own. The light and bright one became known as Life, and her lover, the dark yet lovely one became known as Death. And although they would never touch and know love’s tender embrace, Life continues to send Death gifts, and Death continues to keep them forever.”
She stopped, the tale finished at last. The little boy’s breaths had grown slower and weaker as if each new one caused more pain than the one before. The machines around him began to beep with less frequency. She squeezed his hand, unaware of the tears streaming down her face. The little boy turned his head to look at her, smiling softly.
“Don’t cry, Mama. He’s going to be really happy with his present this time.” And he exhaled for the last time.