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It was still dark as she rose from the bed. She left the room silently, drifting out into the hall.
She lifted her hands to her face and cried at her reflection in the mirror. A red veil swirled around her arm - filled with horror and pain; death and longing.
She pulled it from her and watched as it twisted to the floor. It was no longer hers.
She walked around the house looking at all the things that she had once thought precious; ornaments, toys, photos, memories. Nothing seemed to matter any more.
The photo on the mantelpiece no longer gave her pain. Her son was gone but so was the madness that had followed his death and with it the pain and the grieving.
She picked up her jacket from the back of the chair and walked out.
The sun was now bright and full. It blazed in the sky, making everything look new and fresh. She breathed the morning air in deeply and started down the path towards the road.
She stopped at the gate and wondered if she should take her car. It couldn't be far; maybe she should walk. She didn't want to wake John. She didn't want him to find her just yet. She wanted to be gone by the time he saw the red veil sliding to the floor; lying on the floor.
She could see him lying asleep in bed; he hadn't noticed. At first she thought that he didn't care, but now she knew that was wrong; he did. Now she wondered if she had wanted him to notice, but that was all part of the madness and that was all over. She felt sorry for him in a distant way, but it was too late, she had to go.
She quietly unlocked the door to her car and got in.
The street was deserted; there was no one to watch her leave.
She started the car and drove away not knowing where she was going but knowing that she would find it, or maybe it would find her.
The town streets that she drove along flowed and mingled, stretching into one another then dissolving into country roads. Finally she found herself travelling along a shingle road lined with huge trees. The sun fell between them in strips of light across the road, strobing her as she drove through them. Dark, light, dark, light, dark, light. It mirrored her thoughts.
Light, darkness, tipping, turning. What had she done? It was too late. She felt sorry for John, sorry for all those who loved her. She knew that they loved her now. It was too late.
Light, tipping, turning. She was grieving for those who loved her, or was it for herself? No, she felt peace, freedom. There was no guilt; there was only light. She could feel her thoughts slipping from her. Her mind slipping away. It was too late.
Light, turning, bright light.
The road ahead of her had gone, there was only a light, as if she was driving into the sun. No, not driving. The car had gone, she was spinning, flying. The trees had also gone, but their shadows still fell across her. Light, dark, light, dark.
Light, turning, pulsing, darkness in light. Images hung before her, memories. Her son's funeral. Her crying and John turning away fleeing to work, hiding from her. She had thought that he didn't love her. She had thought that he had loved someone else. She had thought that the world was black, turning in on her, smothering her.
The pain of her son's death. The guilt, eating away at her mind. Her reason giving way to cruel dreams, darkness, despair. The red veil dripping on the floor, red dripping from her fingers onto the floor.
She was surrounded with light, the dark shadows were gone with the last of her thoughts.
She could see John coming home in the early hours of the night before. He had kept coming home later and later. She had hated him for it, thinking that he didn't want to be with her. Now she only felt sad.
She could hear his thoughts. How he wouldn't turn on the light so he wouldn't disturb her. She had been so upset lately, she couldn't sleep. So he would be as quiet as he could so that he didn't wake her.
How he felt that he had to talk to her, try and be there for her more. He had been out walking half the night trying to understand his own feelings; his own guilt, his own pain. Then he had thought how Jean must feel - how she must feel. Tomorrow he would stay home and not bury his troubles in his work. Tomorrow they would talk.
It was too late. If only she had known, she wouldn't have done it. She was being pulled away into the light, but vaguely she could see him come quietly into the dark room and carefully get into his side of the bed, trying not to wake her. If only he had. If only he could. If only he had seen the red veil lying on the floor, the pool of blood spreading across the floor. The last drops of blood dripping from her hand onto the floor. No! She didn't want to see, she didn't want him to see. Ever to see!
She was pulled away, merging into the light. Becoming part of the light.