The Sequence of The Sun

She opened her eyes and took a moment to appreciate the half-light of the beautiful May morning. Never one for heavy curtains or alarms, Ellie loved rising with the sun. Shrugging into her dressing gown, she tapped on her son’s door on her way downstairs to make tea. She smiled to herself as the customary grunt issued from the depths of his bedroom and trilled “morning darling!”

Standing in her kitchen she mentally ran through her day. The morning was mild, and she decided that she would do her sun salutation on the back patio before starting her shift at the care home.

Is that appointment today? Shit!

She paused in stirring her tea and went in search of her handbag, finally digging it out from under the many scatter cushions that formed her sofa – never one for convention, Ellie’s living room resembled a Moroccan Bazaar, with trinkets and memorabilia from all over the world overflowing the hand carved wooden bureaus and mosaiced side tables. Ornate lamps and pillar candles were strategically placed around to cast a soft light that complemented the warm tones on the walls and the huge snuggery that dominated the room.

Having always felt constrained by diaries, Ellie’s entire life was divided between her phone and her notebook – her mother had gifted her this one, a small, black hardback without embellishment.

Does this woman know me at all? She had mused when her mother presented her with it on her birthday, before banishing the uncharacteristically unkind thought.

Flicking past all the post its and scraps of paper, she found the entry she was looking for. She dropped her hand to her stomach as it contracted with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. “Today’s the day, little one” she murmured.

Two hours later, freshly showered she stepped from the house, tucking her wild auburn tendrils behind her ears. The morning was cloudless, and she closed her eyes and turned her face full into the sun. On that morning, May 14th, 2020, Ellie James had less than 10 hours to live.

Ellie took a deep breath and laid the magazine aside.

“Ellie James?” The nurse in the pristine blue uniform repeated and smiled broadly as Ellie made her way towards her through the buggies and strewn toys. She momentarily made eye contact with a young woman cradling a baby whilst her husband cooed over her shoulder and smiled wistfully. You may not have all that, but I promise I’ll give you all the love I can she thought at her bump.

“There,” said the doctor, freezing the blurry black and white picture. Ellie eased herself forward, eyes widening, and looked where Dr Cope was pointing. “There’s the heartbeat. I’d say you’re about 8 weeks. Congratulations.” She smiled professionally, assessing Ellie’s expression. “Would you like a picture?” Her voice was softer, more human now as she turned back to the screen.

“Yes, please,” Ellie whispered. Had she really believed this was happening? No. Not truly. Not until this moment.

“There. Use this to clean yourself up and I’ll see you on the other side.”

Dr Cope swept through the door separating her office from the consultation room, discarding her gloves in a bin as she went. Ellie wiped the gel from her abdomen and dressed in a daze. Her emotions were rioting – her feelings divided cleanly between awe at the life growing inside her and a sickening hatred of herself.

Back in her car, she opened the windows to create some fresh air and rested her head in her hands, rubbing her temples where a headache was trying to form. The sun had turned traitor and was now low in the sky, blinding her. Looking at the small digital readout on the centre console, she took a deep, calming breath and started the car. Much as she wanted to take a few minutes to collect herself, her teenaged son had been left alone all day with his Xbox; a combination she abhorred.

Her ring tone startled her, and she sighed heavily, wishing for just a minute’s peace.

Vicky sis. No. Not now.

But she hasn’t spoken to you for 2 months and had no intention of speaking to you ever again. If she’s calling you, maybe it’s something important. Maybe something’s happened…

“Hello?” she answered quietly, lodging the phone into its hands-free cradle as if it would bite her.

“Hi,” said her younger sister’s acidic voice. “Listen, I’m going to cut to the chase. The lottery ticket I gave you for your birthday, do you still have it?”

Completely taken by surprise, for a moment Ellie had no idea what her sister was talking about.

“Um, yes, I’m sure I have it, why?” Her eyes flickered to her notebook, sticking out of her bag on the passenger seat. Carefully keeping her eyes on the road, she riffled through it and found the salmon pink ticket.

“I wouldn’t be calling you at all except I decided it was unfair not to tell you something that could benefit my nephew. You won. The numbers I picked for you were the ones I always use, and you won the jackpot. £20,000. Congratulations,” she finished icily.

“I…what? Vick, I don’t know what to say, please listen,” she babbled, not caring in the slightest about the lottery, wanting only to talk to her sister, to apologise, to beg if necessary.

The look on her sister’s face the last time they had seen each other, the flash of heartbreak as she had desperately tried to disentangle herself from her brother-in-law’s embrace haunted her.

Her only response was nothing. Her phone screen had gone dark; her sister had hung up.

“What?” she cried out loud, tears starting to blur and cloud her vision.

Her nephew was all she could think. Maybe nephews. Or niece and nephew. What do you call the child of your sister’s husband, exactly?

“No!” The ticket slipped out of her fingers in the rush of air blowing through the car. Reflexively she snatched at it, managing to snag the edge before it was whipped out of the passenger window.

Too late, the harsh squealing of brakes from the oncoming car pierced her consciousness.

Time slowed. The onrushing tangle of legs and muted cries were distant, insignificant. There was something very important she needed to remember; to protect. She couldn't remember what, though. It didn't matter. She would allow herself to sleep.

The last images Ellies mind were able to frame before nonexistence closed in were the ultrasound picture of her unborn child, and, as if in a cruel mockery, the lottery ticket.

As she died, the ticket fluttered lazily from her hand and drifted towards the setting sun.