That Cruel Night

• Jamie Corrie, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2021

The cold glass felt sharp against my heavy head. I rolled my head backwards and watched the never-ending grey that chased our car. The dashboard vent sent goosebumps crawling up my arm, begging for the cold to cease. Usually, I would have closed it off in a swift motion. That night I had lost the will. I could only stare at the distant world that had been so cruel. The moon hid behind the boundary of the sky but left an overbearing silhouette. The trees that caught it held their rigid stance, mocking how I felt inside. The fresh memory slammed into the front of my mind. I winced, hating how it stalked me. I felt my eyes swelling and no tree, nor any contortion of grass, took away the painful pit in my stomach that night. Each moment I pictured the loose catheter hanging from her limp wrist, the glimmer of ignorant hope in her hazel eyes. The lump in my throat rose again. Reality was crashing down like an unavoidable wave and any assurance I sought was hollow. I could feel myself being pulled under moment after crippling moment. When I opened my mouth, all that came out was a shaky breath as I struggled to hold back more tears.
Every streetlight scanned my face with a sharp glow, trying to save me from my own thoughts. I kept picturing her not as her hopeful self who had adored life, but a tired body suffering the weight of a crushing tumour. I forced my pained heart down, but lost track of a tear as it slid behind my cold lips with the harsh sting of salt. The sky was black and that night it was against me. I could not understand how the day had taken such an unmanageable turn. In the blink of an eye, I was stood between unfamiliar walls, with a sterile smell that suffocated me. Rather than hugging her goodnight, I had helplessly watched her in pain, unable to speak from my trembling core. I had squeezed her arm, needing every part of me to remember her warmth. Never had I expected to say goodbye to that feeling, to my best friend, that night. The past years suddenly seemed fragmented as if I had not held onto them tight enough. Why had I taken time for granted? The screeching of tires pulled my gaze back to the lonely street. I opened my hand to find her silver charm and its faded engraving, another victim of time. It was out of place in my tear-soaked palms, yet it represented so much of what had made my life full of joy. It was then that I drowned. With sobs that echoed both grief and gratitude, I shut my tired eyes and allowed the overwhelming tears to fall. A faint peek of colour started to rise from the depth of the sky. The dark haze of that night, unlike a lifetime of memories, had begun to fade.