Something Insane
Monique was sad. Undefinably sad. The hurt inside her she could not express,it was so great. But as her papa
had said, "Life must go on," and it must. But for what purpose asked she. To be hurt over and over again?
Her young brother had died last year of leukemia, followed by her father's sudden death from a heart attack.
And now even before that pain had subsided, her mother was dying. Dying from some disease which the doctors
could not diagnose but she could: Her mother was dying of sorrow. Sorrow over her mother-loss of a young, gay
son, and sorrow over the loss of her beloved husband.
Just how could life go on? She turned her head and down fell tears interminable. Tears held back over the
previous year. The dam had finally broken, letting all that wished to be free, free.
The tears came releasing great agony inside but still leaving no answer as to why Monique should want to live.
To live and see her mother slowly dwindle away? "No!" Monique cried. "No, I couldn't take it!"
Sobs were racking her thin but sturdy body. Her hair had gently fallen over her slightly bent head. Her words
came out softly but with deep feeling. "Oh, God, let me die, let me die," she prayed fervently between the sobs.
Her eyes blurred with tears saw a figure entering the room. A tall, strong, sturdy figure of a man. "Papa, oh,
Papa," she cried running toward the door. "You're back Papa. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back. You don't know how
much we've missed you, how much we've needed you."
Her hands grasped for the shadow of a figure, and--nothing was there. Nothing! Her trembling body fell against
the wall where she beat her tiny fists. Repeatedly and repeatedly she beat her fists against the wall, as if it were the
wall between life and death and she wanted it to crumble and let her enter.
Her tears had ceased but the hurt was still there. Hurt which was slowly draining away her youth. She was only
sixteen but already she had the wisdom of one some years older. And the pain, the pain she had endured would
have been too much for a person twice her age.
Regaining her sanity, she walked to the kitchen and began to prepare dinner. A lonely dinner, with one plate, one
cup, one fork and one person. One lonely person who would be a lonelier person once her mother died.
Monique ate in silence. The kind of silence which hurts one's ears because it seems as if any second someone
will burst out yelling. Yelling something insane.