White Life
As a small child I would sit in the front bay window, staring out at the falling snow and the fragile blanket it began to lay across the concrete estate. Before my eyes old disused cars would transform into sleek chariots, the litter and debris of my neighbours were erased and the few trees' empty branches would become draped in watery ermine. The landscape had been cleansed and sterilised by a light dusting of frozen water liberally sprinkled from the heavens. Such was its power that my imagination transported me into its tales, where I would become an all conquering hero fighting fantastical beasts in Narnia to save the fair damsel. I could usually save at least three before being called to table to begin the turkey feast and open presents. Later, after the paper and boxes had outlived their usefulness and had been cleared away, I would receive a slice of rich dark fruitcake double outlined in a soft pale yellow confectionery and hard shiny royal icing. I would take my first bite as the opening titles to the big film echoed in the room. As I got older, Judy Garland's Dorothy gave way to Rosemary Clooney's Betty in the battle for my attention.
Along with a change in movie choice came an even bigger change in my life. I was lucky to meet Julia as a young man. Her angelic features were framed within a plume of feathers when I first saw her singing on stage at a local bar. The spotlight picked her out, the faded backdrop left in shadow. Her voice had a purity that was reflected in her guileless eyes. It was less than a year before I went down on one knee and our wedding followed six months later. She was a radiant bride; I have never seen such beauty than when I saw her slowly walk down the aisle towards me. She wore a traditional dress which accentuated her recently gained tan. After cutting the cake we headed off to Alaska for our honeymoon. We had a long life together though we were never blessed with children so I was left entirely alone when I lost Julia. It was painful to watch her slowly fade away into the crisp starched sheets of the sanitised hospital room.
I have no desire to continue now. My once black hair has been eroded through grey to its fine colourless hue crowning an ever decaying body. I am much weaker than I ever remember being and I think I would welcome the long rest ahead of me. I'm not sure whether or not that is one of those white lies that we tell ourselves when faced with an unpalatable truth. Perhaps it is, but the feeling is real. I'm finding it harder to take in air and I have lost interest in my surroundings. My vision is fading to black and it's all over. Or is it? There is a bright light ahead of me. It’s the brightest light I have ever seen, almost blinding in its intensity. The white heat of death. And just as when I entered the world from the blackness of the womb to the fluorescent light of the maternity ward, so my death traces a similar journey.
Along with a change in movie choice came an even bigger change in my life. I was lucky to meet Julia as a young man. Her angelic features were framed within a plume of feathers when I first saw her singing on stage at a local bar. The spotlight picked her out, the faded backdrop left in shadow. Her voice had a purity that was reflected in her guileless eyes. It was less than a year before I went down on one knee and our wedding followed six months later. She was a radiant bride; I have never seen such beauty than when I saw her slowly walk down the aisle towards me. She wore a traditional dress which accentuated her recently gained tan. After cutting the cake we headed off to Alaska for our honeymoon. We had a long life together though we were never blessed with children so I was left entirely alone when I lost Julia. It was painful to watch her slowly fade away into the crisp starched sheets of the sanitised hospital room.
I have no desire to continue now. My once black hair has been eroded through grey to its fine colourless hue crowning an ever decaying body. I am much weaker than I ever remember being and I think I would welcome the long rest ahead of me. I'm not sure whether or not that is one of those white lies that we tell ourselves when faced with an unpalatable truth. Perhaps it is, but the feeling is real. I'm finding it harder to take in air and I have lost interest in my surroundings. My vision is fading to black and it's all over. Or is it? There is a bright light ahead of me. It’s the brightest light I have ever seen, almost blinding in its intensity. The white heat of death. And just as when I entered the world from the blackness of the womb to the fluorescent light of the maternity ward, so my death traces a similar journey.