Finished Business

The beige halls of the hospice fill with a sharp, suffocating scent. The penetrating artificiality of

disinfectant wafts through and beyond the old woman’s room. Since time immemorial, humans

have tried in vain. To mask it. With crushed petals, with perfume, herbs, honey or incense. The

living have always tried to stave off the dead. Chasing their shadows.

Something so unnatural could never hope to cover rot’s perennial stench.

Rosanna is forced through the pearlescent entrance.

Darkness claws at her back. Not the simple absence of light with which she was accustomed; that

tame, broken dog, forced into submission by flame or bulb. This was pure absence. Void

unbridled.

She shudders at its moist breath. A warm feeling on the ill-fitting skin that covered the nape of

her neck. It edges her forward, her frail legs dragging her faster than she could manage.

...

The void stopped its pursuit. Hanging in the doorway. She adjusted her glasses and stared into

the now empty space, as wherever she entered from disappeared, engulfed by unimaginable

darkness. Rosanna stared unblinkingly at it, praying it wouldn’t disappear out of view.

The fibres in her shoulders began to slowly untense, betraying a lifetime of instinct. Rosanna

wished desperately for the strength to turn herself away from the darkness, to face whatever laid

behind her. Her eyes tested like cat’s paws, probing an uneven surface before she made the

irreversible leap.

Glancing ahead her stomach began to churn. That sickening, pulsing fear. Peering over the edge

of a high rooftop. That dizzying, horrible draw.

She was staring into an unfathomable maw of white, and the sound of pumping blood faded, a

deep, suffocating silence set in around her.

Shuffling along, her squeaky rubber slides echoed. It sounded like she was in a room. But where

were the walls?

Rosanna’s chest rose and fell in tandem with her frightened, animal lungs. She began to shuffle

faster, almost jogging now. Her chest tightened as a dreadful feeling invaded every part of her.

She was suddenly very aware of the bland hospital food sloshing around in her stomach. Every

organ squelching inside her as she ran. Intestines writhing like mating snakes.

A sudden shock to her breathless body, her foot sank deep into the soft ground. Cold dew soaked

into her socks. The familiar, flat surface underneath her was replaced by something soft and

dense. It felt like... grass?

Somewhere above her, the clouds burst. Colossal droplets began hitting the bleached surface of

the ground. Rosanna squelched forwards, the downpour saturating her thin hospital gown,

wiping her glasses on the wet polyester in an attempt to see what lay ahead of her.

After staring fruitlessly for a moment, some childish force overtook her. She spun in circles.

Arms out to the sky. Long, grey curls loose to the wind. She could feel the night breeze, the scent

of petrichor filling her lungs. And the calm light of the moon on her skin.

Watching the clouds break. Hearing that first, spirituous silence. Broken slowly by a tiny

pitter-patter, which swells to the vast crescendo of a heavy storm. They soak through your flesh

and seep into your bones. These moments. Seeing the clock tick through a new meridian, or the

sun rise from beyond the hills. Watching a plant grow, or the life drain from an animal. Standing

atop a high point, watching the dots in the distance. They let you take a peek behind the great

curtain. These moments. They remind you of your place within the universe. They do away with

your anthropocene conditioning. Reminding you where you sit within the cosmos. Endlessly

vast. Yet, unfathomably minuscule.

Rosanna opened her eyes, the void of white whizzing past as she spun, before a flash of colour

forced her to a halt.

A searing navy presence. The harsh colour of the object made her eyes adjust and twitch like she

was gazing into a bright light. Rosanna stood, facing what appeared to be a dark blue armchair,

as the fluid in her ears, and her swirling vision began to settle.

The soft surface cradled her aching bones as she sighed, sitting down gently.

Before a ray of moonlight took her mind elsewhere.

...

Rose sat. A little girl. Kicking her tiny legs as they dangled down the front of the armchair like a

puppet’s. Hanging on the old man’s every word. She doesn’t remember much about him. That

hurts her heart. She remembers the way he smelled. The way his stubble felt on her face as they

hugged.

The pair sat beside each other. Staring out at the night sky.

“You know little bird, Life is like sailing. Sometimes the sea is calm. The water is glassy and

still.”

He said matter-of-factly.

“Other times the sea is wrathful. The ocean surrounds you like mountain peaks. The clouds are

black and heavy. And as the waves crash against the bow you may not be able to see anything

else.”

The little girl looked up at him as he continued to speak. The old man’s wrinkled face,

illuminated in the electric glow of the verandah light.

“But if you stay afloat? Steer the ship through? If you are not lost to the waves? It will happen

when you least expect it.”

“What will?” She asked, wide-eyed.

“The sunlight! Or, the moonlight for that matter!

The clouds, they will roll away, and you will see it shining through.

The rocking of the boat will steady.

And the sea will be calm again.”

Rose hugged him.

“Rose... You’re a funny little bird.” He said gently.

Rosanna’s arms, now wrinkled and fraught with veins, slid out from their embrace, as she

returned to the light.

...

Rosanna bolted up from the chair. Hip bones popping as she stood. The chair was gone. The rain

had stopped.

Her chest tightened as she panted, hot bile churning in her now empty stomach.

Settling her nerves after a minute, she began to walk again. Her socks and the grass below were

dry. That little animal in her brain scratched at the walls of her skull. Rosanna began to run

desperately.

Only to be brought to an abrupt stop by a wet crack, and a sharp pain in her foot. She tripped

harshly over the new surface. The hard, creaky material below, jarring her ankle. As she laid,

fallen on the ground, Rosanna traced her frail hands over the solid ground. It felt like varnished

wood, and the seams were arranged like floorboards.

She inhaled sharply, her face flushing warm.

As she stood up shakily, steadying herself on her good ankle, the sound of a crackling fire filled

became louder.

The air around her became hotter as she limped on, the floorboards below her groaning. Until the

rubber toe of her slides touched something solid. Rosanna held her arms out, tracing the smooth

wooden wall to the right, until she came across a doorway. Peering into the next room, she saw

another small coloured object in the sea of white. It looked like a dollhouse, floating in the air.

She looked down at the diorama, gasping loudly as hot salty tears poured from her eyes.

Wriggling under the gap of her glasses, following the gutters of her face. Tracing her crow’s feet,

before running down her long beak and falling free. Bursting as they hit the ground.

She reached out a trembling finger. Holding it out feebly, palm facing upwards, caressing the

roof’s slant like following the curve of a lover’s cheek.

A flash of golden fire filled her dewy eyes.

...

Their small cabin rested, nestled amongst the snow, sweetgrass and whispering pines.

Inside, Rosanna’s twentysomething Christmas.

Soft guitar filled the air, peppered with the fireplace’s soft pops and crackles. The bottom floor of

the cabin was decked festively. A large kitchen sprawled against the back of the wall, with a

bench that would be filled with food and drinks later that night. A thick pine tree sat in the

corner, adorned with macaroni ornaments and baubles. Underneath, a host of presents to and

from friends and family.

And in the middle of the room, the only woman Rosanna had ever loved. The only woman who

had ever truly loved her.

Abby.

Abby jolted in surprise as she felt Rosie’s hand on her shoulder, before melting into a soft

embrace. Rosie spun her around carefully, leaving a dishcloth fluttering towards the ground.

Sweet, gentle harmonies enveloped the pair, serenading them as they dipped and twirled. The

world around them seemed to swirl and meld as they danced, streaks of amber light glowing in

the peripheries of their glistening, love-drunk eyes. As the melody’s dregs began floating away

into the silence, Rosie lifted Abby into her arms. Abby held her tightly, wrapping her legs around

Rosie’s waist like she’d done a thousand times before. Their bodies fit together perfectly, love

written by the divines in soul and flesh.

They had spent the whole morning together that day. Standing on the balcony, drinking Irish

coffee, smoking cigarettes and bickering. They pressed their lips together gently, Rosie standing

on her tiptoes.

They would watch as the grey-blue curls of smoke would rise from whatever they were sharing,

passing it back and forth as flakes of snow fell gently in the distance.

And as the frost and wind blew more fiercely, Rosie took Abby into her arms, carrying her inside

gently, fiddling with the doorknob before resting her down on the couch next to her cat. And

there they would stay. Nestled under a thick layer of blankets, one on top of the other, watching

British comedy shows.

And by the time noon had reared its head and it was time for Christmas lunch to begin. For their

family, those they loved more than anyone else, to enter their home. All they could think was

how nice it would be for them to be alone once again.

...

Rosanna shot backwards, moving her hand away like she’d laid it on a hotplate.

Tears streamed down her face.

And as she sat, sobbing on the ground. She saw her staggered breath billow from her mouth in

warm clouds. The crackling of the hearth was gone and the ground underneath her was rough,

stony and bitterly cold.

Her love felt like a star.

Unbelievably hot. A scorching thing. It expanded until it hit a critical point. The scale tipped.

Death or heartbreak won, and love came rushing inwards. Imploding with a force unparalleled.

Rosanna’s wild cries sank to a whimper, and her breath hitched and shuddered, the old woman

hugging her knees like a child.

She staggered to a stand and began to shuffle on again. Through the cold, her rubber slippers

scraped against the rocky ground.

Still she hobbled on, the blank, white void around her seemed to change so much. She expected

it to get darker with the rain and the cold, or brighter in the warmth of the fireplace. And perhaps

in her mind it had. But, in reality, it had not changed at all. The same oppressive light was all she

could see.

She wandered on through the cold, it felt like minutes, hours, or days.

As she continued shuffling, a pinpoint of contrast pierced her vision, she walked faster.What was

at first, a grey speck in the distance: she now clearly saw. The flat, chiseled face of a tombstone.

Something burned in her chest.

A small brass pot laid at its base, and a pure white orchid appeared in her tiny, clawlike grip.

She meandered over to it, hot salty tears still pouring down her cheeks. Relenting, as she placed

the flower in the pot before resting a small, wrinkled hand on the stone.

...

Beeps and whirs filled the air. The sound of a machine inflating and deflating gently. Abby laid

in a hospital bed before Rosanna. Her rosy cheeks now pallid and gaunt. Her eyes were glassy

and bloodshot, and they opened wider as she recognised the figure in front of her.

“R-Rosie...!”

Her blue lips curled into a smile, something pale and yellow was crusted over the corner of her

mouth.

Rosanna leant down and hugged her tightly. Abby’s full chest and shoulders were now thin and

frail.

“I brought you your blanket from home. It’s always so cold in these bloody rooms. Have you

been eating enough?”

Rosanna doted over her wife, covering Abby with her worn woolen blanket, before laying in the

hospital bed beside her.

The pair chittered away for hours, laughing, crying: they held each other tightly and quietly

during the lulls and valleys of their conversation.

“Rosie?” Abby croaked quietly, her tone solemn.

“Yes my love?” Rosanna replied cautiously.

“I-I can feel it. The doctor said I’m not doing great... and well...” She began to cry.

“Well I thought I’d hold on. Hold on for you. To see you again, one last time.” Her voice broke

as she grabbed the collar of Rosanna’s sweater and pulled her in closer.

“Don’t say stuff like that Abs, you’re tough, tougher than me that’s for sure. You’re gonna make

it. You’d better, or when I get to heaven I’ll kick your ass.” Rosanna laughed, choking back tears

as they streamed down her face.

The pair laid together a while longer, talking about nothing and everything.

Rosanna was there by her side.

She heard the last breath leave Abby’s lungs.

And felt the last bit of warmth leave her chest.

...

Rosanna sat on the cold marble. The tears had stopped flowing. Numbness filled her chest like

wet cement. She sighed heavily, the tightness in her bones and heart pouring out into the air. Her

joints popped one last time as she stood up, turning around.

The inky void she entered through was right behind her. A couple of meters away at most. As if

it had never left.

A grin crept over her face as she walked towards the darkness.

It seemed to cocoon her as she stepped inside.

It fit her tightly, like new skin.

She felt herself shrinking, dissolving into it.

Into nothing.

The aching was gone, and so was the heavy toll of time.

...

A flash of light.

Brighter than any she will experience again.

The slate is wiped clean.

She is pushed into the world. Naked. Tiny. Screaming. Gasping for air. She is covered in fluid

and blood.

She does not know the people around her, but she will. A man holds her in his arms and cuts the

cord on her belly. He passes her to a woman. He is gentle and she is delicate.

She looks up at the woman. The woman pants and holds her to her chest.

“Hello Rosanna.”

Written by Sofia R.