April 8

很久沒有在這個Blog po點什麼，所以找來一篇4個月前寫的文章。In engish tho，唔知寫得好無。

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She heard something trembling in her dream, but not only in her dream. Something was shaking outside, in the real world. She woke up and opened her eyes. It was all dark. She saw her phone was lighten up though and someone was calling her.

It was half past five in the morning and she remembered she went to bed at four. She had been writing a short novel which she was torn by how stupid and meaningless her work was. She felt the reluctancy to move as if her bed wrapped around her tightly, as if she was already part of it.

She slowly moved her right arm to reach her phone that was long sank into the desk too. She picked up and she heard herself almost whispering, in a weak and sleepy voice, with only one word --“Yes?”

She pulled herself up. She did not know what to do next. She never had received any call this early, or to be more accurate, this late. She swallowed in some pills to stop her intense stomachache. Those capsules were in vivid colors.

Light blue, lemonade and pink.

She put on a face mask, took her bag and ran down for a cab. The driver looked at her from the mirror and guessed something must have gone wrong. He drove her down the road and she looked at her phone the whole time in the backseat until one message hit her like a bullet straight through her brain.

“Your grandpa was gone.”

That smashed everything. Into pieces, into particles and into molecules.

But there was no blood. There should be blood, she thought. She wished some would come down from her eyes, run down her face, to her neck and collarbone, so she would at least feel her body was responding right.

She put down her phone and stared at the window. The cab was approaching a white building with an ambulance waiting by its side. There she was, seventeen years ago, right there standing in front of the same entrance of the same hospital. She saw she was with her grandpa back then. He was still holding her little hand.

“Oh dear, poor lady, her whole body was smashed,” someone said. She knew that person was talking about her mother, perhaps also talking about her. She thought it would be for the best that she pretended she did not hear a thing. Then… then she could not remember the rest.

She finally arrived his side. His face was white, his eyes were closed and his chin was falling down as if he had never been alive. But he was her entire life, she thought. She had him for all twenty-six years, never a day fewer or a moment less.

She looked at him and wondered how could that happen, ever. It made absolutely no sense. If that was not a catastrophe, nothing could be. His skin seemed terribly fragile that even a gentle touch would break him apart. So she just stood there. She just cried.

Her uncle and aunt were saying their goodbyes. She also tried but she could not make a sound. Now her abdomen was in greater pain, she blamed the pills not doing their job right. But it was fine, enduring her own pain was not too hard. She got used to it already anyway. The real hardship was seeing his.

“Adieu, adieu…” She repeated in her heart while gripping her fists. She hated herself for not making it on time. People said if you were not cautious enough, you might miss the last chance to see the one you cared about. She guessed they were all mistaken. It was not that she could not see her grandpa in the end because she still did, right there; and every day afterwards, right here.

Yet, the truth was he couldn’t see her in the end.

He would have wanted to see her, she thought. He would have. Because he loved her and loved her so much. Deeply and Carefully. And because he finally didn’t call her and tell her not to come, as he would usually do on the contrary to remind her joining his dinner. He must have wanted to see her more badly this time, she thought.

She wished she could be the one who died that morning.