Heaven

• Khushinder Randhawa, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2021

Drowning isn’t as bad as it seems. It as if you are straying far away from the light into a deep abyss. You struggle to hold your breath. But it all leads up to that one moment when you let it all in and you are finally at peace. I wasn’t in pain anymore, I wasn’t afraid anymore.
My name is Emily and on the 14 of January 2016 I was murdered. In my last moments I saw my whole life, my decisions, and my biggest regrets. If only I didn’t fight with my mother that day she would have called me to check if I was ok. If only I had given my little sister the last piece of chocolate, the last memory she had of me would be sweet. My life reduced to an if only. My auntie Bianca once told me that nothing bad could happen to a girl as beautiful as me, how beauty is the greatest power a woman could hold. But she was wrong.
My murderer was a man I trusted, I didn’t realise he was watching me until I was in a dark room and tied down. He was the father of my best friend. I find it hard to believe that someone with a daughter just like me could possibly do such evil. I remember he once told me that I should never give up on my dreams, whatever you start you have to finish. And that’s what he did I guess.
I was crossing the street when the old grey car stopped beside me and he got out. He asked if I wanted a ride home and yet again, if only I had said no. He took me to his house. If only I had not followed him blindly, I would still be alive.
He sank the blade softly into my arm. Blood slipped like velvet snakes down my pale skin. I cried out in agony but no one heard my screams. I went limp, my eyes began to blur. Red was not my favourite colour. But it was his. And as much as I hate him, I understand why he did it. So, he wouldn’t do it to his own daughter. The last thing I heard was “The tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted.”
My family on the other hand couldn’t accept what had happened. They couldn’t let me go. I spend my days watching over them. My father still spends his nights wondering what happened to me. They know deep down that I’m gone, but don’t want them to remember me as a painful memory.
My story might be disturbing to some, inducing horror, bone-weary sadness. But to me my story is my longing for an ordinary life at its most mundane. I want to return to my life but I can’t. Once I stopped drowning I was able to let it go. I’m not gone, I’m still alive. In my own world.