Tremble

Two trembling, weathered hands grasped the cup between them. With great effort, almost like a child, she drew the mug closer to her lips, fitted the rim in between them and sipped the watered-down coffee inside. The nurses had told her that she was not allowed to have caffeine or much sugar, but today, a grim Thursday, when the rain was pouring down outside and volunteers were scarce, it had been easy enough for  to convince the new, juvenile drink attendant, with a nametag reading, "Mahnoor" on it to give her some. "Mahnoor" had hesitated at first; didn't know why she shouldn't have any. To her, a blissfully ignorant something-teen with her whole life ahead of her, it was just coffee. After the senile men and women lined up after  began to give "Mahnoor" filthy looks, grumbling and muttering under their breath due to her momentary hesitation, she conceded and filled up a sterile white mug with coffee and hot water. had nodded at her and retreated into a corner of the room with her prize, avoiding the stares and disapproving glances of the other forgotten and wrinkled, empty vessels which inhabited 'St. Margaret's Hospital for the Aged.' Now she sat, almost drowning in one of the flowered, too-cushy chairs that had been scattered like chicken feed in the white linoleum dining room. This attempt by the nurses to lighten the mood by use of tacky furniture, however, in  opinion was completely futile. The drawer in her heart in which was kept happiness shared its storage space with nostalgic, painful memories. It by now was stuffed so full after her eighty-six years that it was almost impossible to slide another form of light-heartedness inside.  sighed. It was past her time. Why was she still here? All she wanted was to die. She felt she may have done something wrong, been a horrible, selfish being at the worst of times, but the second after this consideration had taken place in her mind, another drawer flew open and Rachel's words came echoing back in her head. Words of placation, words of frustration. Her best friend in the whole world had always seemed to think that  was beautiful and perfect the way she was. She had always known the right thing to say. The drawer slammed shut.  knew that if it stayed open for any longer, this raging, evil pain that loomed inside her, just waiting for an opportunity to take hold and ravage despair on its victim would emerge. And  wasn't ready for that yet. Still, after forty-seven years, she wasn't ready. She didn't think she would ever be.
She was the last one left. Of the four. There had been four of them, not always in contact, a few of them never close, and they didn't always know each other. But there had always been four.
The first one to go was Kieran. Drugs. Overdose. Alcohol poisoning. It was as simple and as tragic as that. One hour he was there, the next he was gone. Every day made it harder and harder for  to remember him. Of course there were pictures, but it was more than that she needed. Just him; his whole essence. How cruel time is. How unforgiving.
Then came Rachel. She lived to exactly the age she had predicted; she was killed in the way she had been dreading. Savagely. Unmercifully. And unjustly. This had been the hardest; the most enduring.  had blamed herself. For not being there, for dismissing Rachel's 'unreasoned' worries. And now it was too late. She, just like Kieran was lost. Gone forever.
Sidney was the last to depart. He had died only recently, the sole natural death.  had attended his funeral just last week. She had watched from a distance, saw them lower the casket carrying death into the deep, dark hole.  had shivered, knowing that in a matter of years, nay, possibly months, it would be her body, her prison, her shield buried forever. Her empty, outer representation laid to rest in the ground.
Her life, her purpose, her hopes and fears had been fulfilled. All she had left to do was wait.