Silence For the Dead

by Simone St. James

For the last part of my life, I’ve wanted nothing more than to die.

I was a shell, functioning like an automaton on the outside, my brain rattling with wild terror on the inside.

My mind was very good at this, at moving my hands and feet and working while the rest of me shut down. My life, for a short time, was happening to someone else, and so I got through one moment, and then another, and then another.

Sometimes putting yourself first was the only thing you could do.

But it would have been nice to have someone to rely on, just once in my life. It would have hurt a little less.

“For a long time I wanted to do anything except think. Thinking made me want to die again.

No one cares if I’m alive or dead, really. Including me.”

Tears stung my eyes. “You can’t hurt me,” I said to him. “I’ve been hurt by worse than you, and he’s dead now, or dying.”

“I’ve never done anything but live day to day. I’ve never really thought about what I want to do.”