Wherever you are, Be There

An online writing forum I like to visit offered this prompt to its aspiring writers:

Time freezes around you. Once a year has passed, it unfreezes. All around the world is gripped by mass hysteria of the messages you left.

Here is the story that inspired: It’s about a cat.

When I ran into a car, I knew something was wrong.

I pulled my nose out of my book, and looked around. The car was on the sidewalk right in front of me. I started to apologize to the guy driving it, but he ignored me. Not even a look. Ok, maybe he isn’t keen I hit his car, even so gently. I walked around it, got back on the sidewalk, and kept going. I glanced behind myself a couple times, but didn’t start reading again. The guy in the car just sat there, not moving. Weird. Oh well, I saw enough weirdness everyday in my dead-end job, I didn’t need to invite any more. You get the oddest people in a 24 hr grocery store. Don’t even get me started on the deli customers. The walk back to my modest apartment was my chance to read, to escape from the real world I found myself in, and to go and adventure with the kind and compassionate characters out of someone else’s imagination.

Other odd things began to catch my eye. The kids just leaning against the basketball court fence. The woman crouched down to pick up dog poop, bag wrapped hand extended and… not moving. The dog blankly stared down the street, not reacting as I got closer. Now that was odd. Dogs usually hated me, barking or running. Even dogs who the owners swore were quite well behaved. I edged past the frozen pair, and began to pick up my pace. A heavy feeling began settling on my shoulders. Dread.

Everywhere I went, no movement. I jogged along, my head turned side to side, scanning for movement. For anything. Nothing. It was all frozen in time. The dread got its claws into me, and was gnawing on my thoughts. This can’t be real life. I must’ve been dreaming. Surely.

By the time I got home, I was running. I dashed up the stairs to my apartment, edged past Mrs. Hicks, frozen on the stairs. I shoved and pushed open my apartment door, and ran into the main room. My eyes found Ashes on her cat perch in the sun, as usual. She was curled up asleep, soft grey fur lit by the golden rays. Her little whiskers stuck up in the air. I crept towards her, hands trembling. I reached out, and called her name, voice trembling. Nothing. My happy little rescue kitty who always came running when I called her name, came and tickled my face with her sweet little whiskers, my little reason for living…. Ashes didn’t move. My hand settled on her fur, and I felt the stiff resistance it had never before held. I pressed down, and her fur very slowly deformed to the pressure of my hand.

I collapsed to the floor, dread blossoming into the all too familiar despair. But this time, Ashes wasn’t about to come running to chase back the depression with her little mews and gentle persistent headbutts. It washed over me, and I drowned in blackness.

Time passed. I can’t tell you how much. I spend a few days in my apartment after I woke up again, staring at Ashes. Please, any moment now, please Ashes, just sigh and roll over in your sleep.

She didn’t.

After that, I wandered. I found the rest of the world frozen in time, nothing moving, no one breathing. Doors turned out to be a sudden inconvenience. I could open them, but it took at least two minutes, as I gently but constantly tried to turn the handle and  pushed against it. The few times I got frustrated or truly scared, I could shove the door open with a massive effort, but I was dizzy afterwards, and sometimes blacked out. When I woke up, nothing was different anyways. Who knew how long I was out for.

First I tried cutting myself. Getting a razor blade off the store shelf was an arduous task, but once it was in my hand and no longer touching the shelf, I was able to slice the skin of my thigh fairly easily. The familiar sting was comforting, in its own way. I watched the blood drip, and fall into the air. Then, the blood drops slowed, falling slower and slower…. before hitting the floor in the slowest of splats. I was horrified by the reminder of my situation, and dropped the razor. It didn’t seem worth the effort of picking up again.

Next, my feet took me to a hardware store, and the paint section. Fortunately, someone had been in the middle of walking out of the automatic sliding doors, so they were open. I had discovered that I couldn’t open the sliding doors, no matter how long I pried against them. Whole stores were closed to me, with their slick doors holding their air conditioned interiors safe from my silent creeping. I was a wraith in this world. Trapped in a fog of my own thoughts. My meds had been good enough to keep the black thoughts at bay for so long, but now it was as if it had all come true; I was a ghost moving through the world, haunting the living. People looked right through me, eyes not registering my presence. Depression made manifest, after hunting me all these years. It was inevitable, I thought, the fog settling around my thoughts at long last. And this time, no therapist was there to throw me a lifeline of proper medication. And Ashes….. I sobbed, standing in front of the spray paint.

It started simply enough. A few charges on my record of trespassing and vandalism told the story of my younger years. Graffiti had been my escape, striking out at a cold world that didn’t care, and a system that seemed designed to crush my young spirit. But the minor penalties of juvenile crimes hadn’t prepared me for the slap of the law when I finally turned 18 and still hadn’t mended my spray painting ways. It had only been my court ordered therapist who had taken the time to actually care and listen to me, as I spilled out my pain. A few rounds of different medication, and I had finally settled into a reasonably responsible adulthood. I had finally found a job that would look past the criminal charges on my record and give me a chance. And I had finally found my reason, when I had stared into the eyes of that little ball of grey fluff, in the humane society adoption centre.

Ashes… my mind replayed her little pouncing games with string, as she grew into my loving kitty companion. My hand traced out her face, arm swinging in long arcs. Ears, whiskers…. her face on the side of the building. What building, I had no idea. I didn’t remember walking here. But that didn’t matter. I had my recently acquired backpack full of laboriously liberated spray paint cans. And here I had my canvas. Time passed, it didn’t matter how much. It was only passing for me, anyways.

Eventually, I stepped back, and admired my work. Words writ large, and Ashes looked back at me, eyes soft on the cold brick wall. I smiled at my artwork. Big grin… then my lip trembled. Stinging eyes, and a tear coursed down my cheek. I collapsed to the uncaring pavement and wept. Oh, my Ashes….

Life became a series of snapshots of memory. I found myself in front of another brick wall. There before me was scribbled words of loneliness, and the hint of a feline ear, the glint of a golden eye in the darkness. Next, the side of an overpass, and it was her graceful tail underlining another heart wrenching line of solitude. I didn’t remember writing that. It looked like poetry. Maybe I had read it somewhere? I fondly recalled sitting in my cozy apartment, in the sun. I loved to read, and Ashes loved to curl up beside me as I read. Sometimes, I would read her some poetry aloud. She would watch me intently, swivelling her perfectly sculpted ears to catch each word I said. Ashes saw me, and listened to me.

I wept.

Another vast glass wall. Some expensive financial building downtown. Who cares anymore? Money doesn’t mean anything when I can stroll into the grocery stores and slowly pull fruit off the shelves. It is always perfectly ripe, and delicious to eat once I can finally pick it up. No one is here to stop me. No one sees me. Eating is just so hard to care about however. It has been a little while since I ate, hasn’t it? Surely not a long while…. oh well, it doesn’t matter. I discarded the troublesome thought, and bend my focus back to the glass wall. There had been scaffolding here, something in the process of being taken down. I used it to scramble all over the glass surface, reaching new heights with my spray paint. The grey fur came out in wonderful detail, her lovely eyes glowing with a depth of feeling. I had spent so long staring into those eyes.

A memory, is it? I was on the phone, so it must be a memory. I was laying on the floor, peering into Ashes face. She was sick, I had been terrified. The vet assured me the pills would help, and just to keep her warm. I had lain on the floor with her all night. When the thoughts had gotten bad, I called my therapist. I knew how great a privilege it was to have her cell number, and used it very sparingly. She had talked me through a bad few moments. I was terrified, what if Ashes died? Then it struck me, what if I died? What if Ashes was left alone? I had been near inconsolable at the thought. My therapist had talked me down, and finally she had stepped beyond her professional duty, and promised me that if anything happened to me, she herself would step in and make sure Ashes was taken care of, give her a home. With this reassurance, I held my vigil over Ashes the rest of the night.  In the morning, the cat had finally gotten up and made her way to her water dish. She had weakly lapped some water, and then come back to lay beside me, curled up against my stomach. I had wept gently with relief. Ashes got better.

I put all the love I had for that little grey form in my art. The paint spread over the glass, her fur whisper fine. I had actual paints now, and so I took my paintbrushes to add in those fine little whiskers. There was something the matter with my hand however. Usually I was able to trace the whiskers so well, but today my hand trembled, and the whisker smeared. I frowned to myself, and wiped away the paint. I was momentarily distracted by the sight of my skinny wrist. Were those my bones, pressed against the taunt skin? How odd. How irrelevant. I forced my weak legs to stand, and reached up to finish the final whisker.

This one was surely my best yet. There was Ashes, looking back at me in glorious detail. The scribbled message of compassion and loneliness below the portrait set her up perfectly. Her eyes, so warm. I grinned, and stepped back to view the masterpiece. Stepped back, and sagged down. Whew, I must have been standing for longer than I thought. My legs were just so weak. Maybe I had some fruit in my bag? No, I had eaten the last of my stash… oh, a while ago. It didn’t matter. Only the art mattered. Only the words of comparison for animals everywhere, and the message of loneliness slain by their soft unconditional love.

So tired. Maybe I would just have a little nap, and then go find some more paint, some food.

I sagged into the ground, my eyes filled with the beautiful sight of Ashes, compassion shining from her eyes. She would like the message, I thought. Kindness and compassion…. My thoughts slowed, muzzy and wandering. My head sprawled backwards, propped on my bag so I could rest and fill my eyes. My chest felt so heavy.

Maybe just a rest….

Maybe…. just let that last breath go, and why bother to take a new one?

As my starved heart fluttered and clattered to a halt, my fading eyes filled with the sight of Ashes.

I’ll wait for you, beside the rainbow bridge…. I thought.

Then….. I. Just. Stopped.