Rosity Nick: The Art Word Count: 1,000 The Last Day Of April. Restless The night had not been kind. Dawn arrived with consummate ease, fragmenting into light. I’d seen it happen, the dark blue evolve into a crimson red glow, a translucent umber hue that almost seemed like a fire in the sky. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking out through the window as the day progressed, the long night being pushed away, early winter light rising into the light blue sky. Strange all our lives revolve around the existence of others, and can fall through the gaps they leave. I tried to concentrate, but could not focus on anything decisive, pressing, or urgent, nor anything that I wanted to do, I let out a deep sigh, that feeling again, it starts in the pit of your stomach, creeps up, makes you feel empty, a deep emptiness that seems bottomless, a pit of unimaginable vacuum, makes you feel sick, hollow. It was a feeling that I was used to, it had kept me company for some time. I dressed and made my way to the park, which was remarkably busy considering the climate. I made my way towards the small pond that lay in the centre of the park. Several benches had been placed around the perimeter, I chose the one we had always used, and sat down, looking into the almost still water, not really seeing it. The park. Always this park, it was where she had liked to spend her time, to idle away those precious moments that she felt she had spare. This park, this bench, I miss her still. Depression had me, and was not showing any sign of releasing, its fervour fired by the sense of loss that held me. I sat staring into the pond, oblivious to all around me. “Hello” “Hello” I became aware, slowly, that someone was talking, and it seemed that whoever they were talking to, wasn’t listening, I realised they were talking to me. I turned to see a young girl, probably about 16 or 17, sat in a wheel chair, she was quite pretty, with a woollen hat, bright green, and a scarf to match wrapped around her neck, she smiled at me. “Hello”, she said. “Eh.. Hi!” I replied, somewhat surprised. “Fresh today isn’t it” she said. “Er, yeah, it is.” “I have seen you in this park before, you come here quite often don’t you.” She asked. I took a little while to think how she had noticed me, yet I had not noticed her, “Yeah, quite often.” “My names April, what’s yours?” “Stephen,” I said, ”Stephen Cort”. “ You like the park?” I asked. “Oh yes,” she said,” I come here every day”, she paused, then continued “You look sad, I see you when I come here, and you always look sad, you shouldn’t, all this is too precious” she held her arms out wide and looked skyward “ to not be happy.” “Easy for you to say” I said, not really meaning to sound obtuse, but it came out that way. “Hmmm!”, then she giggled “not really, but never mind that, do you feed the ducks, I do, I like to sit here and feed the ducks”, her face beamed into a huge smile that almost took my breath away, and I almost smiled too. We talked for sometime, about the park, the ducks, the cold weather, and other things, and her bouncy happy spirit was almost infectious. After some time, she said “Well I have too go now, you take care, and look forward, always forward,” again that wild smile, and a sly wink, then a man who had been standing behind her that I had not noticed before, stepped forward and took hold of the wheelchair, he looked at me with a pained smile, and started to leave. “See you tomorrow?” I asked. She looked at me, then closed her eyes briefly, opened them again with a small smile on her face, and said, “That may be difficult, but I’ll see what I can do”, and then they were gone. I sat there for a while longer, thinking about the conversation, then left. I slept a little last night, more than I had for a long time, I rose and freshened up, and made my way to the park, perhaps April was already there. I got to the bench, the same bench, but April was not there, the man who had pushed the wheelchair was however, “Hello”, I said, “Where’s April?” “April won’t be coming to the park anymore” he said” She passed away in the early hours of the morning, but she asked me to give you this”. He handed me a note, delicately scented, “I don’t understand” I said, he did not speak, he turned, and was gone. I read the note several times. “Hey Stephen, J how are you today, I hope you are happier than yesterday, there is so much more to look forward too, don’t spend your time looking back, there is nothing there for you now, don’t forget, but don’t imprison yourself there either.” “I am sorry I can’t be there today, but I have been ill, and it seems that my time is up, but you can move on, rise above the shackles holding you down, stay happy, and look forward Stephen, always look forward.” “Goodbye, Stephen, I wish you happiness, oh!! And Merry Christmas. April xxx.” I suddenly realised, and the burden resting on my shoulders seemed to lighten, this young women, even though she knew she was dying, even though she knew it may have been her last day, had been happy and smiling, and in her joy had lifted my spirits, raised my expectations. My past was just that, behind me, the present was this moment in time, where my life had been saved by the fearless spirit of a dying girl, and my future is where I am going, moving on, lifted, forward, always forward.