Read Online The Last Leaves Falling by Sarah Benwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Benwell
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the gardens.
You will have the time and space to say good-bye.
And in your final time, our trained medical staff will ensure you have a comfortable and easy passing, without pain or prolonged suffering.
I wonder how they know?
At what point in the rasping, gasping final moments of a person half-delirious with discomfort or unconscious from medications, do they know that this is it ?
Is there a code I have not earned yet? A secret signal?
And do they ever get it wrong?
Does it matter? No matter what you do or where you are, is it ever comfortable or dignified?
I don’t know. I wonder what other people think, and I’m halfway through typing the KyoToTeenz address to ask, when . . . Oh. I haven’t been back since . . . Will they even talk to me, after I screamed at everyone?
I almost turn away, but it does not seem right , somehow. I can’t give up that easily. I inhale slowly, let my fingers steady on the keyboard, and, compiling a list of excuses for my behavior, I log in.
BRrRrRrRrRrRr
BRrRrRrRrRrRr
BRrRrRrRrRrRr
Before the screen has even loaded, my speakers explode with notification alarms, and then a box announces:
YOU HAVE SEVEN MESSAGES
Great. I imagine seven versions of “What’s wrong with you, moron?” or “What kind of samurai loses his cool like that?”
And everyone laughing cruelly at the boy who screamed and ran.
And the moderators asking me, “Please leave. We’re blocking your account.”
But I’m here now, and the noise won’t stop until I click.
The first message is from a name I do not know, but I do not open it because below is a whole wall of messages from MonkEC. She’s tried to talk to me six times in two days.
I hope nobody’s told her what I did.
Nervously, I click on the first one.
Hiii! I hope your day was good to you. I had the most BORING lessons, but it’s okay because I followed it with art class after school and I spent an HOUR talking to the instructor about animation.
She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know!
Hi,
Are you there? You’re usually around by now . . .
Hellooooooo?
I picture her sitting at her desk in a quiet, empty house, with only the Internet for company. And I wasn’t there. My fear morphs neatly into guilt, and I wish I did not have to read on.
I open the next one with my eyes half-closed, but that does not stop me from seeing the words.
Ok, so I just looked through the chat logs, because . . . well, I wondered whether you might be ignoring me . . . and I saw what happened. Are you okay, Samurai? It feels so weird to call you that, like I don’t know you at all. But I think I do. Are you okay? And what should I call you (you can make something up if you don’t want to tell me)?
She . . . she knows? And she’s still talking to me?
I stare at her message, a mess of guilt and joy and worry all at once.
Finally, settling on mild relief, I click on the last message.
Where are you? I don’t know whether I can help you but I need a friend and I wish you were here. Maybe if we talk we can help each other?
Please?
p.s. I’m not a stalker, honest!
Pps don’t worry about the other day. Sometimes I feel like screaming at everyone too. (:
REPLY
Hi MonkEC. I’m sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you at all. I’ve just been really busy.
No. That’s ridiculous.
Hi MonkEC, I’m sorry if I scared you, I just kind of freaked. I’m okay though. How are you?
Just kind of freaked? You’re an idiot, Sora. And that’s not a proper answer.
Hi,
I don’t think you’re a stalker at all, and I’m sorry that I haven’t been around over the last few days. I have been really busy, and it all got a bit much. Sorry if I had you worried.
Sora (that’s my real name by the way, not something I made up).
P.S. You can talk to me. I’d like that.
I click “send” before I have a chance to change my mind, and then my eyes are drawn to the last unopened message.
From: NoFaceBoy
I click.
Hey Man,
I don’t think we’ve spoken before. Probably
You will have the time and space to say good-bye.
And in your final time, our trained medical staff will ensure you have a comfortable and easy passing, without pain or prolonged suffering.
I wonder how they know?
At what point in the rasping, gasping final moments of a person half-delirious with discomfort or unconscious from medications, do they know that this is it ?
Is there a code I have not earned yet? A secret signal?
And do they ever get it wrong?
Does it matter? No matter what you do or where you are, is it ever comfortable or dignified?
I don’t know. I wonder what other people think, and I’m halfway through typing the KyoToTeenz address to ask, when . . . Oh. I haven’t been back since . . . Will they even talk to me, after I screamed at everyone?
I almost turn away, but it does not seem right , somehow. I can’t give up that easily. I inhale slowly, let my fingers steady on the keyboard, and, compiling a list of excuses for my behavior, I log in.
BRrRrRrRrRrRr
BRrRrRrRrRrRr
BRrRrRrRrRrRr
Before the screen has even loaded, my speakers explode with notification alarms, and then a box announces:
YOU HAVE SEVEN MESSAGES
Great. I imagine seven versions of “What’s wrong with you, moron?” or “What kind of samurai loses his cool like that?”
And everyone laughing cruelly at the boy who screamed and ran.
And the moderators asking me, “Please leave. We’re blocking your account.”
But I’m here now, and the noise won’t stop until I click.
The first message is from a name I do not know, but I do not open it because below is a whole wall of messages from MonkEC. She’s tried to talk to me six times in two days.
I hope nobody’s told her what I did.
Nervously, I click on the first one.
Hiii! I hope your day was good to you. I had the most BORING lessons, but it’s okay because I followed it with art class after school and I spent an HOUR talking to the instructor about animation.
She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know!
Hi,
Are you there? You’re usually around by now . . .
Hellooooooo?
I picture her sitting at her desk in a quiet, empty house, with only the Internet for company. And I wasn’t there. My fear morphs neatly into guilt, and I wish I did not have to read on.
I open the next one with my eyes half-closed, but that does not stop me from seeing the words.
Ok, so I just looked through the chat logs, because . . . well, I wondered whether you might be ignoring me . . . and I saw what happened. Are you okay, Samurai? It feels so weird to call you that, like I don’t know you at all. But I think I do. Are you okay? And what should I call you (you can make something up if you don’t want to tell me)?
She . . . she knows? And she’s still talking to me?
I stare at her message, a mess of guilt and joy and worry all at once.
Finally, settling on mild relief, I click on the last message.
Where are you? I don’t know whether I can help you but I need a friend and I wish you were here. Maybe if we talk we can help each other?
Please?
p.s. I’m not a stalker, honest!
Pps don’t worry about the other day. Sometimes I feel like screaming at everyone too. (:
REPLY
Hi MonkEC. I’m sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you at all. I’ve just been really busy.
No. That’s ridiculous.
Hi MonkEC, I’m sorry if I scared you, I just kind of freaked. I’m okay though. How are you?
Just kind of freaked? You’re an idiot, Sora. And that’s not a proper answer.
Hi,
I don’t think you’re a stalker at all, and I’m sorry that I haven’t been around over the last few days. I have been really busy, and it all got a bit much. Sorry if I had you worried.
Sora (that’s my real name by the way, not something I made up).
P.S. You can talk to me. I’d like that.
I click “send” before I have a chance to change my mind, and then my eyes are drawn to the last unopened message.
From: NoFaceBoy
I click.
Hey Man,
I don’t think we’ve spoken before. Probably
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