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Susan Myers, Room 211 Rachel Carney
She placed her hands on my face and stroked my skin like I was a porcelain doll. Her hands moved to my hair, running each strand through her crooked fingers like she was spinning thread. So beautiful. Her eyes were sunken deep into her skull, clouds floated in front of her blue irises. I could tell they had once been stunning like a clear river or the sky in February. They darted from my chin, to my cheeks, then to my nose, and finally rested on my eyes. Don’t let me die. I’m so talented. I paint landscapes. Thin lips were agape as she waited for words to emerge from mine. Her hands were grasped around my wrists like she was trying to drink in my own youth, as if it was something I could give away. My family loves me. They’re coming to see me next week. Her hands shook violently and her skin sagged from her bones. Deep wrinkles etched into every part of her body. Some invisible force that had once held her together was now gone, and she was unraveling. Don’t let me die. All I could muster was that I wouldn’t, as if God himself afforded me the authority to do so. She was carried out in a body bag three days later.
-Rachel Carney is a junior from Mooresville, NC, pursuing a major in Exercise and Sports Science and a minor in Creative Writing.-
