Six Minutes

         The music played on the stereo as she lay on the blue silk-covered bed. A cool breeze swept through the window blowing her hair softly across her skin. The blanket her grandmother made for her thirteenth birthday began to sway, draped over the tan chair that sat near her desk. On the desk are sheets of notebook paper. Each line covered with blue ink. The words written in cursive glide gently over the paper, as though they had been painted. Next to these papers sat a brownish-orange bottle with a white cap. The angel standing at the top right corner of the desk wore a long white dress with a blue shawl wrapped around her neck. The smooth black hair moves with the breeze from the window. A sense of relief and sadness filled the air. Next to the bed on a small white table sat a green lamp with a white shade. If looked upon very carefully, you notice a picture of newlyweds in rapture. He wore a green uniform with a purple medal pinned to the pocket. She, with long silky blond hair, wore a white dress that barely covered her shoulders. The music in the room came to a halt and the room became utterly still. Her body is stiff on the bed. The pillow that hugged her head ever so gently was stained in tears. No muscle in her body, nor air in her lungs, moved. In the placid room lingered a scent of death.