Chariot

Sunday afternoon

Her hands are a bushel of fingers on the touch, their color lifeless, her complexion pale. Coughs rip through her chest, her ribs and tommy heaving in spasms; useless dispense of energy, disconcerting also to the lookers-on. "I have had enough", she tells her friend Andreina, "I don't need this anymore. What's the point? No lack of love for people that are here, but I am tired, just so tired now." A cough syrop, a cough tablet, homeopathic medicine, they barely seem to give her solace. If only we could get that barking cough to stop, the remaining silence would match the serenity that otherwise reigns the room.

She can't take any more visitors the rest of the day. Wants to be left alone.

Lara wants out, but is still too resourceful for her own good, really. The last of her reserves - how deep are they? - keep her alive, be it in waves of fitness.

In the middle of last night, she dreamt that the heavens opened and a chariot appeared, someone telling her there was a place for her. She remembers not taking up the offer. Next time she may decide to just hop on board.

I mean, we are at that point. For all the love in the world that I carry for her, I hope she will go soon.