Terminal

• Micheala Krass, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2013

The wintry winds slapped their hands against tender cheeks, pale faces blossoming with colour as she huddled against the advances of nature. Glassy eyes, framed by luxurious lashes stared out into the world, a hand tentatively twined around the fur of her hound. The dog had snuggled its way into her chest, and the others watched in concern as it curled there, yet she seemed content enough with its presence. It had been with her for so many years now, having found her at the age of six, accompanying her through the progress of life, a black shadow readily at the feet of the pale stick of a girl. Many would whisper to each other in concern as she passed, yet her attention was focused elsewhere, turning her wane smile to the bounding animal at her feet. Prone to temper tantrums it would lash out on occasion, and she would retreat, a small and fragile being of little health, warily watching her companion until it would settle sleepily by her side. The men in strange coats would visit, prodding, urging her to take the many supplements that sometimes made her worse than better and frowning at the lack of development. One day, the sun dawned to show an empty spot by her side, her faithful hound gone from her, and she called out, stricken. Her family watched on in confusion as she searched for him, cheeks burning with new life but eyes searching for the absence she wanted filled. Brushing aside door, and the questioning hand of her mother, she launched into the backyard; she crumpled onto grass, loss a yawning pit within her. Although paled with concern for her, her family watched on with hope and barely concealed delight. It confused her.
The days drew by with little sign of her companion, as she was pulled from one place to another by coaxing hands and kind words. Her step became more confident, and the lines that encircled her eyes became less noticeable. The shadow that was her dog soon slipped from her mind, memories only clinging to the recesses of her mind that were briefly remembered but soon again forgotten. Time launched forward, and the girl accompanied it with an enthusiasm born from good health.
Golden motes danced through the air, the lively messages heralding the return of the sun as it ushered in a new dawn. In the pale shapes twixt day and night, a shadow wound its way into the house and crept up into the bed of a sleeping woman. Old habits saw her move to accommodate the creatures shape as it settled next to her in the curve of her stomach. A relieved sigh escaped her lips and she was still.
The same strange men in coats came; they prodded and gravely nodded their heads. It had seemed that her strange illness had struck without warning, although having left ten years previously. And the words hung unspoken in the air.
Terminal.