She is gone. Forever. He will never again see her pretty features or kiss her warm, soft lips. He stood there, at the centre of her bedroom. Alone, when before he used to be with her. There was not the slightest breeze coming in from the window. Nothing moved. Nothing, except time. The ticking of the clock, its hands turning round and round. Only that moved. Only that was alive.

It had been two days and one night. Empty. Senseless. He hadn’t slept, didn’t want to eat, and didn’t want to drink. He didn’t even want to breathe in the air that kept him alive.

Two days and one night since he had seen her last. He dropped on her bed and took up the small teddy bear he had given her on their first anniversary. He held him as tightly in his hands as if he was holding her. He couldn’t find a meaning in all this. Why had it happened? “She’s gone. She’s gone.” Tears ran down his face as he whispered it, “She’s gone.”

* * * *

Everything was as usual that night. It was, in fact, not very late. It had not yet struck half past twelve when they arrived beside her car. Though a bit tired and messed up, as you would expect from a 20-year-old who had just spend the evening dancing, she looked attractive and yet innocent, utterly devoted to life, full of hope and dreams. She already knew how she was going to spend the following week and kept on repeating her plans to him as they walked.

He asked her twice whether she preferred him to drive her home. She declined both times, as they lived in opposite directions and she had her own car. She couldn’t just leave it there, could she? She then smiled, kissed him, got into her car and started off.

There was no trouble at all. She was perfectly sober. She never drank. Her car was in perfect condition, everything working as it should, the lights, the brake… She was also an excellent driver, careful and attentive. But somehow that was not enough.

The driver of another car was not sober. His car looked as if it had just stepped out of a scrap-yard. And he was a horrific driver. Since he didn’t have any lights, she saw him only when it was too late. He didn’t even notice her and moved on with tremendous speed. She tried to swerve. He pushed her with the side of his car. She clashed into tree. He continued to speed on. She capsized. He suffered from a terrible hangover when he woke up the following day. She didn’t wake up at all as she was already dead.

* * * *

Something woke him up. Maybe it was his own crying. He opened his eyes and became aware that he had fallen asleep on her bed. The bed he could have shared with her if that bastard hadn’t drunk. He placed the teddy bear back into its place and wiped the tears on his face with the edge of his T-shirt.

She has gone and he can’t do anything to bring her back. That was the only thing he could think about. But there actually was something he could do to keep her alive. He would make all her wishes come true! He knew all her dreams, all her ambitions as much as a physicist knew all the laws of motion. He would make them come true. All of them.

He opened a drawer and took out of it a bundle of papers. He held them tightly against his breast as a gust of wind blew in from the window. Her work, her talent; seven novels typed on A4 papers that she had longed to publish, that she had been waiting to share with other people. He would now do it for her himself. It would be the start of his mission. Making her dreams come true would become his reason for living. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, die before he fulfilled this oath.

With the papers in hand, he walked out of the room. He gave a last look inside; a 21-year-old student who looked more of a devoted 40-year-old missionary. His eyes rained but he smiled, like one who believes so much in his faith, that not even his own death would stop him from going on. The door closed and he walked away.

Veronica Barbara

(October 2004)

My name is Veronica Barbara and I’m a 17-year-old Junior College student. I study English and History at A level and would like to become an archeologist. I love literature, writing and reading. My favourite books are murder stories and fantasy sagas, but I also enjoy reading stuff I do not usually read so as to get acquainted with the different ideas and techniques. Apart from literature, I also enjoy sketching outfits, watching fantasy and comic films, shopping and cookery. What I really rate in a person is creativity and optimism, in my opinion both essential traits if one wishes to succeed in life.