Jade Robey

Gone before gone

She knew suddenly that it was over. Her father was gone. Well, not gone entirely as he was in the room on the bed next to her chair. Though the four grey walls contained them, there was a certain endless emptiness lingering in the room like an infinite moan. She breathed in the hospital air, salty and pungent in her nose. It was nothing like the cool Autumn air that loitered outside just beyond the plain hospital window. The rude smell forced the obvious into the reality she had tried to deny. Her father was sleeping now, his face pallid and his hands clammy. The doctors had said there was no end to the spiral of death so slow yet certain. She looked at the time piece on her left wrist, half past eleven. She grabbed his left hand and held it in both of hers. She kissed it gently and sealed her eyes for a split second. “Time, take me back to when he knew who I was,”she begged. “Daddy, I miss you. It’s your little girl, please” she yearned, “say my name.” She opened her eyes, gently lowering his hand back down.