The accident had happened on a Tuesday, a sour day before Ash Wednesday. Of course, he was always going to be on time for her, and her the same. They loved each other deeply; an unseparable love.

The time felt like it had drew back an hour when he came out of the shop holding the bouquet of roses. Their rich aroma filled the shop and sailed outside into the quiet street.

The post office alarm sounded and a group of observant birds scattered into the warm air. A bright, blue car turned the corner, picking up the masked stranger running outside the post office.

He didn’t see this – his mind was on her, as it had always been. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, his first true love. She kept him alive inside. He loved to see her everyday. And now, he began to cross the road.

Then it happened. The masked driver pulled the car to the left, but the grinding wheels danced the opposite way, waltzing out onto the crossroads. The young man was hit directly as he walked, the glistening blue hood smashing into him like an impenetrable battering ram. The force of the hit sent him sprawling across the windshield, breaking it; and the getaway car crashed into a white delivery van, the explosion shaking the street and lighting the sky with a tepid orange flash. Passers-by ducked, albeit most were hit by the flying shards of glass and metal. One person lost an eye and a young child lost both her legs.

But the post office alarm rang louder than ever, clouding over the chaotic screaming that filled the street.

The young man was dead. An unfortunate time, and she was later told this.

A bouquet of roses lay upon his bed.

2

She lay on her bed, the damp sheets spilling over the mattress and onto the floor. The policemen had left almost two hours ago, knocking at the door hastily. She was just about ready to shower when they had arrived. Their faces were bleak and bore nothing. After they had told her the news of his death, she broke down in tears. Why? Why did this have to happen? Especially to him, her love. Death was an unsavoury punishment.

The day was passing slowly and she faintly remembered the messages that were left on the answering machine. "Hi Sally," it rang in her head. "I guess you’re not in now so I’ll call you back later!"

"Sal, it’s John here. How are you and Stephen getting on? I heard the news from your folks: congratulations! I wish you both the best of luck!"

Sally lay there, crying, gazing emptily at the ceiling. She stared at the roof through her blurred vision, hoping that it was all just a nightmare and that she’d wake from it soon. But it wasn’t.

The doorbell sounded twice that afternoon, but she answered neither. She was too weak to do anything except cry all alone in her bed, the place she’d once spent many nights of passion with him, now remaining to be only of solitary comfort.

She lay there huddled in a ball for the next two days.

3

Several letters lay on the mat at the front door. One was addressed to her and the others to Stephen. She awoke that Thursday morning feeling dry and unpalatable and called out his name, but of course, there was no reply.

She cried again, clutching at her heaving chest. Her hands were wrinkled and held onto soft, cold blankets. Her body was rigid, lying almost as if it were frozen. Her breasts ached. Her mind could only picture him with his caring smile and conjured up the wall unit loaded with dozens of roses. She didn’t want to think of how he was looking after the crash. How can things in life just become careless?

The machine’s memory began to overflow as each call answered the anonymous bleep.

She moved her free hand to her face and wiped her eyes. She had grown pale and somber through her pain and anger. Oh! how she longed to see him again, or to hear his mellifluous voice, or even just to touch him once. Just once.

The doorbell rang and the noise echoed through her ears, as well as the gloomy house.

"Sally?" called the voice – a woman’s. "Sally, it’s Kate. Are you in there?"

The young woman standing outside banged upon the door. Sally didn’t answer.

After a few minutes, the woman slipped a note through the letterbox and left. Sally heard the crumpled paper falling to the ground.

Hunger and dehydration had managed not to eat away at her somehow, although her body cried out for food and water.

She lay there cringing, her round black eyes sagging at the vision of him standing over her.

4

A newspaper printed a day after the incident at the post office, featured the writing in its columns mainly about those that died. There still was no explanation as to why the post office had been robbed. The newspaper deliveryman had posted that through her door too, but she never got up to pay him.

One of the most peculiar things was reported in one of the articles. An elderly man claiming to have been sitting on his balcony only a few hundred yards away told that before the blast, an unknown black swarm descended from the sky and hovered in the air. When asked what he thought it was, he simply replied: "They were the angels."

Sally didn’t read any of the reports. She remained to lie in her bed, crying, drowning in her own sorrowful sadness. Dried patches of urine stained her bed and stank her room and her tears were salty, nipping her eyes. She felt as though her life was over.

She had had a dream and Stephen was there. She dreamt that they were walking alone in a garden, but as he spoke, no sound came from his mouth. His lips moved, the voice omitted. But she needed to hear his voice again; if she didn’t, it would drive her crazy.

Then she found them walking to a giant stone pillar with moving faces embedded in it. The carved faces expressed sadness and some cried. But they wept blood. Blood that ran all the way down the pillar and into the ground, each droplet creating a flower.

He turned to her, her ears still forbidding her to hear what he was saying. He then began to cry, something she had never seen him do before. The black suit he wore bore stains of red, and to her horror, she saw that he too, cried tears of blood.

She screamed, but nobody heard. The vast green area they stood upon was serene and languid, much like her room in the dawning reality.

And then at last he spoke, and her ears allowed this.

"Let go of me!" he cried, screwing up his bloodshot eyes.

She widened her eyes as a wave of darkness rode along in the sky before them.

"Please, let me go!" he begged, his bloody tears running down his cheeks.

She too, wept. Her tears would not spill and bring life. Not yet.

His face suddenly split down the middle and out spilled a luminescent web of light that soared high into the air. She gazed upwards, and as the darkness loomed over her –

5

She woke up drenched in cold sweat. The two pillows lay restless on the floor and her legs hung over the bed. She had been crying again and she rubbed her eyes.

The window was open. It had been closed the last few days. The curtains blew around the edges of the window and at the peak of the protruding darkness when all of a sudden . . .they stopped.

She didn’t notice this at first, but when she heard the footsteps crossing the room her ears twinged and she tilted her head to the side.

A tall figure glided across the room, carrying something in its hand. A few leaves from the tree outside had invited themselves in and lay scattered on the linoleum. At once, they parted to pave the way for the stranger.

She gasped for breath, but realised that the sickening smell of urine had gone. A redolent smell of . . .roses dominated the room now.

"Sally," whispered the voice.

"Stephen?" she coarsely replied. "Is it you?"

"Yes," he assured her, stepping closer to the bed. "It’s me."

Her lungs missed their last gasp and she almost choked. He lifted and opened his hand and her convulsion stopped. She stared at him excitedly, all her thoughts of his death vanquishing. He knew she thought this, and he knew that he would have to tell her the truth.

"Sally," he whispered, lowering his hand, moving slightly closer. His footsteps were fainter. "Sally, I have to ask you something."

"What?" she replied, sitting up.

"I need you to do something for me," he said, laying his hand down onto the blankets. His suit had merged into the darkness of the room and his pale face was all she could see.

The bed shuddered and the blankets became warm and dry. The curtains at the window fluttered like deranged moths.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" she asked him, her voice dry and coarse.

"I need you to let go now," he said, raising his voice, pinning his eyes to her prone body.

"Let go? Let go of what?"

"Sally," he whispered, "I’m gone now."

She stared blankly at him. "Gone? What do you mean you’re gone? You’re right here with me."

"No, I’m not," he cried.

Tears built up behind her eyes and she tried desperately to hold them back. "But you’re here with me now!"

"Only because I have no choice," he told her. His cold tears patted the warm blankets.

She gazed around the room, puzzled, then stared at him. "Then, what happens now?"

Her voice trembled. He too, felt like that. Inside, he knew what it was like to lose someone you really cared for. He knew what death held because he was there. He had already lost her to life itself, but death would also keep them apart.

"You must let go of me Sally," he asked, moving from the foot of the bed. "Only then will I . . ."

She stared down at her hands and noticed she was shaking. "What am I to do now?"

"You’ll be okay. You just need to accept I’m gone. Please, Sally."

She closed her eyes and remembered the dream. It was true. He was dead. The bloodied stone pillar would be calling him soon.

The room lit up from the doorway and the leaves blew about the floor. The curtains rose and held still as the air breathed life into them.

Stephen resented turning to face the burning threshold, though it didn’t blind him. Its power did. He turned to Sally.

"Sally," he called, "Sally, please let me go!"

She swept back the tears as the light shone upon her. The light held answers only she would now know, and it gave her the answer to why she had to release him.

Stephen stepped back towards the light, pleading. He called out her name several times when she finally whispered: "I accept."

He stopped and faced the light. It fell upon him like a wave of blue fire, and he said something that made it mumble and shudder. He returned to her and handed her the roses.

"Sally," he said, passing over the flowers.

She took them, both their tears falling onto the delicate red petals. This would give them eternal life.

He kissed her on the lips and his touch made her warm, and then he quickly retreated to the doorway and slipped easily into the light. She unwillingly watched as the radiant light engulfed him, then heard him say, "I’ll always love you."

He vanished into the quivering light and the room fell instantly quiet. Sally sat on the warm bed, holding the flowers. She learnt now the secrets of death and why loved ones must eventually go, and knew that someday she would be reunited with him. Someday.