Untitled (For Bridget)

This was for a contest. Each story had to be 600 words or less with the same first sentence. Here is what I came up with.

She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk  
through the door. Twilight met her gaze. A warm, sweet breeze washed over  
her being. The worry swept away, replaced with a sense of peacefulness. She  
looked back at the door, reached out and brushed the wood lightly. As  
gentle as a mother's touch, she traced over the wood grain, stopping at  
each knot, remembering.
    
The book had been placed in her hands upon her arrival. It was an  
unexpected gift. No title appeared on the dark green cover, but she had  
suspicions about this novel. Instead of starting at the beginning, she  
thumbed to a page somewhere in the middle. A loud laugh escaped her lips,  
and she quickly covered her mouth, smiling. She hugged the book tightly and  
realized why it had been given to her. Although, she knew this story well,  
she remembered parts of it were hard to comprehend.
    
She took a deep breath, smiled and opened to the first page. The crack of  
the spine was like an old friend, waiting for an embrace. She settled in,  
and in what seemed like a snap of a finger, the first third of the book was  
behind her. The beginning had always been the easiest. She tried not to  
skim through pages, but she couldn't resist searching for her favorite  
parts. Soon, though, her pace had slowed.

Eyebrows furrowed, she locked onto a particular set of paragraphs, reading  
and re-reading the sentences. Her worried eyes caressed each letter, each  
word. This, she had remembered well because she couldn't understand the  
meaning behind it. Rage bubbled up inside of her, like a boiling pot  
overflowing. She flung the book in frustration. It hit the wall with a thud  
and quickly found its way to the ground. It laid like a dead bird, the  
cover outstretched in opposite directions.

She sat in her chair for a long time, staring at the book, willing herself  
to pick it up. Finally, the urge was too strong. She walked over and bent  
down to retrieve it. Again, she hugged it tightly against her chest. She  
found her place and walked back to her chair. She re-read the part again,  
but this time it seemed easier. She felt she could continue on with the  
story.

Chapter by chapter her heart felt lighter. Sometimes laughter filled the  
room, at other times sobs. She vowed to never throw the book again, even  
when it became so hard to bear she couldn't help but shake with loathing.  
It was too precious. Soon, only the last pages were left to re-discover.  
She breathed in and out before she began. Slowly, in and out.

When she started, it felt like trekking through a snow covered mountain.  
Slow and arduous, and at times she had the feeling of moving backwards. Her  
body, mind and soul ached for the ending. Only then would she find relief.  
What seemed like weeks, those few pages had finally brought her back to  
this reality. The book laid open on her lap, the last words resonated in  
her mind.

Walking through the door had been a fight against all the fear that  
clutched her heart. But now, as she traced the wood grain, she knew it was  
the only way to heal. Two words were etched into the wood. She brushed over  
them lightly, knowing this wasn't the end; only a path that would lead to  
continued enlightenment.

She whispered, “My life.”

Reviews

[Suze]

Beautiful, Alison, I really like this a lot!! What a wonderful thought, the chance at the end of life to sit down and really come to terms with things, to look at them again and either laugh or cry our hearts out. To cherish that book and hold it close while we walk through that door to whatever comes next. I'm so glad you posted this, you got me back for making your eyes water earlier, lol.

[AliWatts]

This is how I imagine Bridget coming to terms with her life after her death.