Cold Bed

The cold bed

         Margaret was holding her mother's hand.  Her mother was very old and had been brought in because she fainted.  It was the kind of thing Margaret was trying not to think about.  She supposed there was a life here and now, and here was all that mattered.  She didn't understand those that inoculated themselves with a strange notion of a life hereafter.  She looks at her mother hooked up to an IV, in a white hospital gown, her eyes closed and a steady beeping to monitor heartrate.  Margaret's hand was shaking as she wrapped herself up with her arms, she was twenty-eight and the whole world seemed so small, to exist in this very room.  Between her and the bed, between a mere fraction of air.  It came to her that a dozen realities hit her at that point, some old and one important new one, she knew she had no siblings.  She had herself and her arms pathetically trying to act as shock absorbers.  But the quaking of fear ran through her. 
         She realized that she had herself to rely on and she realized, for once, that it was not enough and she shook as she cried.  So many tears ran down her face as she let it all out.  At a point in grieving our walls come down and these rare moments make us stronger, so they say.  Margaret didn't believe that though, to her, it was only pain to work through and wish it would end.  She knew she was alone and wished it that way.  At least, she suffers with dignity.  She suddenly had the climax of this feeling, but little did her quaking chest know, they weren't alone.  A pair of eyes was floating above them belonging to a beautiful blonde haired woman.  She had large white wings and a warm smile.  She saw the woman's suffering over her lost mother, this always saddened her, it was that love was there and this was good, but it was injured with loss, this was expected, natural, but it did not help that it hurt.  She saw many mortals fall into years of depression over such losses and sometimes they really needed help getting back up.  Other times, people were lost.  This was bad to her. 
         Margaret looked up to her mother as the machine kept beeping and then suddenly, her heart was hardly ready for it.  She felt her earthquake in her chest give aftershocks as it settled into her bones.  It was with her now, it would always stay with her.  It would grow when she grew and mature and become a kid all it's own.  She would nurture it, it would be beautiful someday.  She saw, the machine stop beeping and a steady noise occured, she knew that this meant her mother's heart had stopped and terror ran through her.  She did the only thing she could do, as her eyes began to cry once more.  Just when she thought it was over.  She called out, "Somebody help me!" and then, she got up and ran to the door and yelled down the hallway.  It was three o'clock in the morning, she didn't care who she woke up.  That's the idea, when life hangs in the balance, the semblance of death is the first casualty.          She heard footsteps as if people were running, many come to their doors and look helplessly at Margaret, a Brunette, slim with blue tight jeans hugging her legs and her ass.  She had a white blouse on with a white undershirt.  She looked at them all, as if they were all pleading to god.  "Well?!" She turns her head up and then down the hall and she sees doctors run and backs up.  She was run over before and reacted on instinct. 
         She watched them gather around her mother and they were working to bring her back, she knew that.  Still, she watched them and then she looked above their heads as if she saw something.  Something bright.  She had to shield her eyes as the light became intense.  She saw only the brilliant light in the room as the rest of the lights flicker off.  She couldn't keep her eyes off of the beautiful woman with the white featured wings floating down to her mother.  She had her mind in awe at the sight, not a spectacle but an amazing triumph.  What was she seeing?  She was only seeing her grief, hallucinating due to the stress level on the brain and the endorphins were counteracting making her feel good.  She dismissed this when she felt the intensity rather than just saw it.  A few feathers brush against her face, so soft, like cotton and for a brief moment.  When the feather touched, she could feel a calm rush over her, as if she was at peace.  Then she opened her eyes as her hand rubbed the feather against her cheek, she saw her mother, and then, in a moment of love, her heart sank and her face nearly went with it.  She knew then that her mother was gone, gone forever.  She shrivveled into her chair, as the pain the angel hated and expected, came over her. 
         The angel wept tears for her and each one turned into a diamond skittering to the floor.  Each worth a young woman's soul, a destitute cause, and an unspeakable end.  The young woman's soul is bartered with, God refuses, and Charon only stares out into darkness.  She has the worst quakes now, she feels everything shake, so hard she thinks her ribs will crack and puncture her lungs, she's scared she'll die right then and there.  Inches, a dozen at least, seem to be the space her chest moves from her rib cage.  No sounds are heard in her ears, as the angel has reached down and taken the old woman's hand.  Suddenly, anger, the young woman looks up in vengeance, the fires of hell in her eyes.  She looked at the angel, "No!?  NOO!?? Not now!  Noo....." Agony takes over, she crawls out of her grave with the rain pouring down.  She bellows out a terrible scream, full of helplessness and love.  She falls out of the chair toward the angel and goes through her mother and the angel there.  She reached to embrace her but she went through them like ghosts.
         She lay on the floor for a longtime as the heavenly light dwindled away.  She would wake up in an hour or so, and quietly let herself out a sidedoor, making her way home.  Holding a golden cross that she found her hand very tightly.