On That Warm August Night

Vibrant, beautiful, petite, likeable….



Sylvie had always believed that she was born to be somebody someday. Her academic records were all but excellent so as her reputation on social functions as the person who never forgets to ‘take service as part of her life’s advocacy’. She’s said to be the epitome of a true-bred, pure-blooded leader whom children ‘should’ emulate.



In the eyes of other people, Sylvie is godsend.



Yet no matter how much praise and acknowledgment she receives from the crowd, Sylvie knew she will never ever be able to feel contented and fulfilled. Not after a decade or a century. Not even after several millennia which she already equated to eternity.



She will never achieve what she dreamed of. Even if she had mastered the art of storytelling and creative writing, Sylvie will never be able to see her name on the first dream book she had long been wishing for to publish.



Not when she’s buried ten feet below the ground; lying cold and distant from the world she grew up; decaying from a year of living with the scavengers and decomposers on the soil.



It’s been a year since her death, yet the memories she left, including the plans and unfinished businesses she had on her mortal life remained fresh not just on everyone’s memory, but also to Sylvie. She never thought about dying. She even dismissed the idea that anytime, death could come knocking on her door and ask her for her final breath.



Sylvie felt just so sure that she still had years to live and things to accomplish….books to publish.



But all assurances, expectations, vision and dreams vanished on that warm night of August when a bullet straight to her heart took her breath away despite her desperate attempt to remain conscious while rescuers rushed her to the nearest hospital.



Even when her vision started to blur, and her hearing suddenly failed her, Sylvie fought for her life. Even if the pain on her chest and the nausea that was slowly creeping on her head became unbearable and impossible to suppress, she did her best to remain conscious; all because of her belief that it was not yet her time.



There were just too many things she has yet to accomplish in the future; too many lives she knew she could change; too many dreams she’ll never be willing to give up.



To Sylvie, dying isn’t an option. And even if death came to her face to face on that warm night of August, Sylvie denied its entrance to her life.



Such was her strong denial that even if the doctors failed to pump air to her body; to stop the oozing of blood from her severed heart; to add a rising line on the straight life indicator on the machine that monitored her heartbeat, Sylvie still refused to close her eyes.



Even as she took her last breathe that night, Sylvie didn’t welcome death.



She died with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if in a trance-like state, seeing something remarkable on the spot above her, though in reality, the ER lights are the only things present on that spot, flooding the entire room with light.



Reminiscing how everything changed after that, how her human life ended on that day, Sylvie couldn’t muster the courage to accept what fate had brought her. She didn’t know where and what she is now.



If she could still think about her life before, then perhaps she’s now what they call the human soul, or the ghost, or the supernatural. Sylvie didn’t care. She will never care.

Time as of now doesn’t matter anymore. Dreams she had once could never be brought to life. Sylvie wondered what’s in store for her from now on. It’s been a year since her death in the human world, yet from where she was now it felt like it was only yesterday when she separated from her mortal body.



Everything felt empty.



Visions are no longer visible.



Dreams are forever left in the human world.



With another glance on the life she once had, Sylvie wept, only to find out that she’s no longer capable of shedding tears.