A Lily In Death
In my hand, I hold a lily.
A lily that waits so patiently for death.
If only death could be as beautiful.
Is it?
The lily smiles at me.
It will die free.
I will die imprisoned.
Will death be fair? I hear all the time, life is unfair.
Surely death is fair.
I ponder at the lily.
Is it afraid to die?
Am I afraid to die?
No.
Maybe I should be.
Is there evil in death?
Is there a mother?
A father?
A family?
Will there be friends, awaiting only my arrival?
In life, there are no such people.
All are gone ahead of me.
Soon I think I will join them.
I can’t wait.
We will die the same, the lily and I.
Will the lily follow me to death?
It would be nice to have company.
Is it a long journey?
It is a pleasant one?
A door in the outside world opens.
It closes.
The bread has come for the prisoner.
I know it is my last morsel of food.
Do I mind?
Yes.
No.
Maybe a little.
Is there food where I will be going?
I hope so.
Even if food is not needed, I could not imagine life without another treacle tart.
Life.
How long will I endure this painful time called ‘life’?
In death, I know I will be beautiful.
In life, it is said, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
But in death, who is the beholder?
In my hand, I hold a lily.
Hello, Lily. Stay with me, Lily. Stay.