Death is not the greatest of evils; it is worse to want to die, and not be able to. ~Sophocles
He was dressed in white.
There were white feathers scattered on the cushion beneath him. His hair was flowing about his shoulders, spread out beneath him perfect and neat and slightly curling at the tips as it sometimes did just after he dried it. His pale lashes were gently kissing the his cheeks, and his lips were faintly parted. He rested on white cushions, and a small white pillow cradled his head and gracefully curved neck. His hands were folded at his chest, dark rosary beads weaved between his delicate fingers and the crucifix resting just below his ribcage. Red rose petals tainted the purity about him, and I wanted to pluck every sinful blossom away, but I was too weak.
He looked angelic.
There were voices behind me speaking in hushed tones, and everyone was drenched in black. The room was dark, but ironically there was a stained glass window just behind the platform where they had laid his bed, and so he was bathed in lights of all shades and hues. Yellow painted his face and hair, brightening it so that he appeared to have a halo about his brow.
He looked like a saint.
Somewhere in the church’s sanctuary was my mother, her face shrouded by a dark veil and a white handkerchief clutched in her gloved hands. She had periodically dabbed beneath the veil at her eyes, but I knew they were dry. Her greatest troubles had been removed from her now. I was standing among the soft glow of candles and the rainbows from the window. I felt cold despite my heavy black jacket, and I lingered by the open coffin where my twin lay.
I felt as if my heart had been torn from my chest. It is true that twins are a part of one another. Shepherd was my heart. He is what kept me alive. I realized far too late that I had been taking him for granted. How many times had I laid in bed as a child, staring up at the ceiling, and thought that I would apologize to Shepherd the very next day. Tomorrow, I’ll apologize and stop being so cruel.
Tomorrow.
There was no such thing for me anymore.
Everyday blended together in a blurry, lonely haze.
No one was looking at me when my tears fell to dampen my brother’s pillow. I leaned over the side of the coffin and stroked his peaceful face. I wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to tell me that this was only a bad dream. I wanted to wake up to him shaking me; I recalled with anguish how I used to yell at him when he’d attempt to wake me for breakfast. Every morning, he would cook breakfast since mother was long gone by the time he awoke. He would always cook enough for two, even though I never ate it. He always held out hope that sometime I would get up and join him, but I never did. Shepherd ate his breakfasts alone.
I kissed his forehead, and I waited for him to speak.
When we were children, we would kiss each other’s forehead before going to our separate bedrooms and whisper that we loved each other. He neither returned my kiss nor spoke even a word to me. I touched his neck then his hair, frowning as I felt the silky strands beneath my fingers. They had given him a wig to hide the smooth, bare skin that remained as a battle scar.
The scar from his surgery still remained, but it was so faint that I barely noticed it there.
I could remember countless times when I had stood over him like this, looking down on him as he laid in peaceful oblivion. All those times that I had taken for granted, all that time that had been wasted. Tears rose to my eyes and cooled my cheeks. The rivers flowing from my eyes had become so familiar that I barely noticed them. I stroked his hair and his cheek, feeling the cool skin beneath my fingertips.
“Severin,” His voice was always so calm, so gentle: a still small voice.
The sky was open above us, and there were clouds- bright and fluffy clouds. The sky was a shimmering, pale blue, and the sun was a very pale yellow. The clouds slid over the sun every once and a while, sending shadows over the green grass around us. We were laying in the park near our house on one of the gently sloping hills. Shepherd was wearing slacks and a white button down shirt that day as usual; he never dressed casually.
This was a rare moment.
Our mother was away at work, Shepherd was completely well, and I was in a quiet, contemplative mood. When Shepherd had requested that we come to the park that day, I didn’t refuse. Shepherd turned his bright eyes toward me, their blue made all the more lovely with the light of the sun and sky reflecting in them. “Severin, do you think Heaven is like this?”
“I don’t know,” I responded drowsily, watching as a butterfly fluttered pasted me, over my chest. It fluttered about helplessly before coming to a rest on the tips of Shepherd’s outstretched fingers. “This world is flawed,” I whispered, turning my head very slowly as to not startle my brother’s new found friend. “Its so hideously ugly and tainted by man’s stupidity… just look there, right passed that hill there are factories pumping pollutants into that clear sky. We’re killing forests and animals, destroying all that was meant for us. Destroying everything beautiful. I don’t think Heaven is anything like this.”
He flinched as if my words had physically stung him, and I lifted my eyes to look up at him, finding tears gathering in his eyes. “Yes,” He began weakly. “Yes, this world is flawed, but, Severin, how can you look out onto such a beautiful scene as we have today and not feel a since of hope? How can you see that sun and not feel as if it were one of God’s candles shining down on us? This world is beautiful. I think that Heaven will be similar to this… with green grass going on forever and streams and rivers and trees and clouds, many clouds… and perhaps butterflies. We’ll have God’s face smiling down at us, brighter than the sun… there won’t be pain or tears… we’ll all be family… all brothers and sisters.” His voice drifted away as the butterfly flew from his hand.
I shifted and sat up, looking down at him with a frown. “Perhaps there is no Heaven, Shepherd.”
He grew quiet and the smile disappeared briefly from his face. “Then, if there is no Heaven, I hope that I can dream while I sleep. Because then I will dream of this: of you… of the grass and the sky… the sun and the wind…That’s all I would need…”
The memory fluttered away as a butterfly, and I looked down at his face, bending once more to place a final kiss against his brow. I lingered with my lips barely touching his skin, and I whispered into his skin a soft prayer to the God Shepherd had so adored.
For Shepherd’s sake, I hoped there was a Heaven, and even a Hell. If there were, then he would receive the peace that he so deserved, and I would reap the pain that I had so callously sowed.
