Bystander

You are more than sure the dress, plus the garter belt—all in their ruffled glory, are drowsed across the bed. Ironed, folded without any creasing or whatsoever in sight. Where are they? Really, Jesus, at times like this?

Mornings usually are just as messy in your book. No, scratch that. You are a messy person in general. Yet whenever anyone dares to nail some senses to your head on '101 ways to take care of your belongings', you would argue that you're an organized mess. unlike those 'I’m so messy I look like I lived through tornado' kind of mess.

It doesn’t occur to you that the shorter hand of the clock has reached one of its stops. Your light feet soundlessly stride over cold wooden parquet, covered in dust, so long since it has been graciously scrubbed and mopped. Was it last month? Was it last year? Perhaps it was three years ago when I first moved in with only a blanket and a cartoon character plushy I totally forgot who.

You stop in front of your almost empty fridge, looking at a lousy green post it with a stupid smiley face hung over it. It is such a familiar handwriting. Tiny and beyond neat, with extra curves here and there. Perfection, just how the owner used to be.

Don’t forget to pack! Our road trip is in two days. Love you.

It's dark. All electricity shuts down, no sign of breath in the house. In spite of the darkness, you're trying to find your socks—yes, in the kitchen. If your mmemory isn't messing around, it is supposed to be in second cabinet to the left, below cutlery. Jackpot. Neon pink? Gingham lime? Transparent with tiger stripes on top? None of yours are suitable for the occasion. I guess I’ll go socks-less today, not like the warmth matters.

They say days like this are supposed to be gloomy. Grim waltzing all around the place, mocking every single person in the room. Albeit the stereotype, the case is a whole different for you: it's filled with relief—or rather some kind of peaceful feeling, you would say. It's contentment. To feel sad is an understatement. The only thing you could feel for now is gratitude of being free from such hassle every living person is undergoing at the moment.

The corner of your eyes catches a small glimpse of a newly put vase, filled with fresh water and Chrysanthemum practicing ballet recital inside. Oh, there are white Lilies too. Great! Way to celebrate a once in a lifetime moment.

Blaring sound of phone ringing across the kitchen calls you away from your thoughts, slowly reminding you of the garter belt (again, clad in its ruffled glory) that needs to be put on. It rings throughout the minute before your voice echoes from the voicemail, indicating the absence of a certain figure who are busy gazing with no interest.

Oh, boy! Are you there? You are nowhere to be seen. The ceremony was about to start. Your partner definitely wouldn't want you to be elsewhere in such moment, Darling. There is no point in hanging out there anymore, you know that? Please call me back. Love you. Huh, where is he?

Your alarm has undergone more than six routines when you step in front of a mirror, engulfed in midnight dress and bold scarlet glosses over your plump lips. The mirror reflects nothing but milky painted walls, staring at you blankly whilst reminding you of the place you're currently in. Ah, could never admire myself again, don’t we all love that.

It feels peculiar. Black is never your color, at least said him. “It dulls the stars in your eyes" or “It blends too well with your hair, eh?” would come out from his lips the moment you wear something coal. He knows for sure you'll turn heads here and there, but he sees you as cardinal, flaming, and vermilion—a fierce person who has the word 'valiant' written all over your face. Raven won't suit you nor your personality.

Guess I'll just listen to him today, for the last time.

You spend half an hour dolling up more before eventually step outside, welcomed by a bleak midwinter. The neighborhood is far from lively: closed doors, blinds down, porches buried in muddy footprints, accompanied by moderate snow. The residents seem to be away, gathered in one place while crying their fraudulent sorrow away. The sun's pretty bashful today, yet the contrast of your ruby dress on the pearly snow is as clear as summer day.

Woof, a spaniel barks before you to your confusion. How does it saw you? You're supposed to be as subtle as nitrogen in the air. Ah, they said animals can see through dimension which nobody have access to. Hello, little one! Do I look pretty today? I have a pretty important ceremony to attend, though. See you later?

It does not take long for you to notice the roman, historical ornament scatters all over the holy building. The place is packed with attendees from ranging ages and different backgrounds. A distinct marching chimes of bell can be heard from the distance. Yes, church is your destination of the day. A group of elementary children (you assume, based on their heights and those grins which said I know nothing on life burden) are lining hand in hand with a pastor of your acquaintance. When you were a brat, you heard stories about deaths and afterlife. Your mum told you to be nice because one’s good could be seen on how many people showed up on one’s death bed—or how prominent they were. It was ridiculous, you think. Look at you, how your once in a lifetime ceremony is brimming with mortals with different intentions. It amuses you to observe them from your standpoint. One man whom you met on a blind date once is sitting with solemn expression. He is a friend of your friend, or an ex of a friend? It is vague and the date was nothing but disaster (but he's nice). Two women whom you spent your childhood with are bawling their eyes out, you are sincerely grateful to both of them. One stranger is holding a phone, trying to capture the moment of your parents standing before a coffin. Red coffin.

He must be the one who arranged this.

The ceremony already started ages ago. A photograph of you smiling is centered on top of said coffin, standing gracefully on the altar surrounded by Chrysanthemums. You noticed a man with swollen eyes is sitting on the front row, whose mom was looking for him previously through your voicemail. He's listening to another pastor. The pastor's reciting a lecture on a certain accident which took place a couple days ago. A pair of lovers were supposed to be on a road trip, celebrating a new job one of them expected to begin this week. It miraculously turned into a car crash, murdering one of them in the process. The figure who got murdered is standing as bystander, passing on to the afterlife. The bystander is standing with poise by the door, in red, amidst all the black the attendees were clad in.

Satisfied, you check the time. Perfect. As intended, you've arrived fashionably late.

To your own funeral.