Start with a number.
210,380
Two hundred
and ten thousand, three hundred and eighty hours.
Plus or
Minus.
Two hundred
and ten thousand, three hundred and eighty hours, I've been sitting here,
waiting. Not with baited breath, not even with apprehension, because I had no
earthly idea of what I was waiting for.
No
unearthly idea either.
I just sit
here waiting.
Glancing
down at my watch occasionally, I tick the seconds off. Sometimes, for the sake
of my own morbidity, I count to six, gasp, and begin again.
When I was
a little girl, someone told me that every six seconds a person died. I remember
waiting in grade school counting them out. Sometimes I still do.
Now, I
watch the clock, wondering if in another six seconds I will be the one,
suddenly finding myself standing in eternity.
Those six
seconds have passed, and another six in the time it takes me to write this.
It’s a horrible fascination with death—a fixation almost. It is a constant in
life.
In my
210,380 plus or minus hours, I've witnessed the death of eras. My life began at
the end of one. I've watched millennium change. Every year, I celebrate the life
of a new year, forgetting to mourn the death of the old one.
We often
forget death. It’s odd though.
It’s
everywhere.
We are all
dying from the moment we enter the world. The cells break down second by
second. We see it. A wrinkle here, a sag there. Maybe even a grey hair. Maybe
our ears go, then our eyes until finally—
The heat will leave our bodies at some point. It seems the thing that makes us alive is how
warm we are.
To be cold
is to be dead.
I’ve felt
the heat leave a body before. He’d already gone into the afterlife, but I held
his hands as his body caught up to what his soul had already done.
So, I sit
here waiting for nothing to happen, ticking off six seconds at a time.
Maybe I’ll
have counted down to the death of someone I know.
I pray not.
But, who
knows. . .
210,380
Two hundred
and ten thousand, three hundred and eighty hours.
Plus or
Minus.
And still
counting.
As Always,
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