Grief by Taffy Tan
John tossed around in his bed. He sat up, looked around the small and messy room, and with a sigh, lay back down onto the bed again. He narrowed his eyes when the dawn light peeked out at him from through the dirty blinds. The old clock read 4:44 AM. There’s was no point in trying to sleep; tonight was the tenth sleepless night of the month, anyway.
“Wake up honey,” he said naturally, turning to the other side of the tiny bed. However, it was empty. The sheets were cold and the pillow was untouched. “Of course,” he murmured, “she left already.”
He dragged himself out of bed and took heavy steps to the bathroom. He glanced at the man in the mirror: bloodshot eyes with dark circles surrounding; a man with a dark aura looked back at him. He looked at the sink and saw some hair clips. Those were her hair clips. Why were they still here? It was not as if she was coming back or ever going to use them again. Or would she? Oh, John wished her back dearly. Suddenly it seemed as if nothing had happened and everything was the same. Any moment now she would run over and give him a good morning hug, even a kiss on the cheek, maybe
No. He shook his head and was sent back to the real world. She was gone and never coming back. The realization hit him once again like a bucket of water dumped on him, leaving John icy cold from head to toe. A giant rock in his stomach pulled him down, dragging him further and further away from his senses. John slowly sank to the cold hard floor. The telephone under his bed suddenly rang. He fumbled over two chairs to get to the phone, but a picture caught his eye.
She wore a white dress in the photo, the sun shone brightly in her eyes and she smiled happily at the camera. He tried to smile back, tried to look just as happy as she did. But the sweet sadness in his eyes and the angle of his lips told otherwise. Someone was leaving him a message, something about the rent. But he couldn’t understand, for all he could think about was her.