I was bewildered when I was told that the 18-wheeler truck that was speeding on the wrong side of the road plunged in into your 4-wheeled sedan, causing it to fly off the road into the gorge at the bottom of the mountain.
I saw you two days before, and you were so excited about the plans you had for the year. Your career was booming and you had just proposed to the love of your life. You were in a place where you finally understood that the world is truly your oyster, until the 18-wheeler came tumbling down and wiped it all away.
It wasn’t your time to go.
It was unfair that you did everything right and you were a good person.
It was unfair that you had to lose your life while the perpetrator emerged from the wreckage unscathed with a mere scratch on their face.
Seeing you lying in the neatly carved wooden box with white cushions in front of the altar at church was unreal. You were merely just a body; an empty house that was once occupied with laughter and sunshine, but is now empty and desolate. I wanted to take some of my oxygen and breathe it into you. I wanted your heart to start pulsing again, for blood to start rushing through your veins again to remove the emptiness that occupied you.
As the church service went on with incredible sadness hovering in the air, something happened.
The congregants heard a cough, a winded cough that sounded like a person emerging from rough waters after almost being drowned.
Your coffin startled rustling, and before anyone could run to your coffin to see what was happening, you peered out of it, disorientated while clutching to your tight chest as your body struggled to move oxygen through your body.
You then mustered up the strength to ask, “Can I please have a glass of water?”
*image from thedressmakerscloset.blogspot.com.