Limbo

Fiction by Isabella Gibeault

An extreme fog waved over my head as if I was standing in the direct way in which the smoke and ashes were blowing from a campfire but I was blinded even with the lids of my eyes remaining perched open. I remember the context behind the question of who I was yet every piece of the puzzle provided to me as to how I got here, was jumbled and beaten around and there was no way of piecing it flawlessly. My knees attached and perfectly intact to the rest of my figure, weighed me down and prevented me from reaching a full standing position without the dreadful slowness accompanying it, the vertebrates of my spine stacking one by one and it felt as if I was passing through water. Dream-like even. Yet not ethereal, an intense feeling of agitation resided over me, churning my mind with confusion’s invasive behavior. The prints of fingers could be felt distinctly as I ran my hands through my hair in profound fear, I was losing all sense of myself. I was overwhelmed yet felt a clear path, just a tug of some sort from my ankles without the pulling of anything palpable belonging to an unknown source. And as I mused to why I was listening to this unverbalized calling but didn’t think too much of it in a sense to stop, I figured wherever my internal compass was giving me a ride it had to be better than where I initially was. I couldn’t beguile there. My feet walked with earnest purpose and although I couldn’t see the road they were following I trusted each time my toes lifted from the ground and were placed again putting me farther into wherever I belonged. While this process of lifting the heaviness toe by toe occurred, I finally reached a place in which sense was returning, my heels, as I was walking with them first, no longer felt fog but instead luscious life beneath them. I regained vision like I had passed into a different dimension and the green, the maroon I took in slowly, realizing I was in grass. An urge for my head to lift itself and look around led me to discover I was interrupting a service without the participants knowledge of it, yet it sure looked like I was one of them. A dusky, doleful black dress covered me, hinting at the somber setting I had not registered to be a funeral till moments ago. For whom I wasn’t sure but I just went to sit with the only familiarity I’ve seen in ages, my other half, Colton who was conveniently surrounded by my family and it seemed my mother was the most upset, perhaps aunt Korin had passed. Known of them acknowledged my presence, it was like I was walking amongst aliens who had no interest in my wellbeing. Finally it came time to close the casket and give eulogies. It was unusual that this was outdoors and typically it would even be rude but I found it extremely peaceful and nostalgic, honestly I’ve always told my mother how I would desire my funeral like this. Colton was the last to give his eulogy and by this time I had zoned out for all the previous so I’m still not sure of who has lost their life, I’m not sure I want to know either if Colton’s speaking about them. He gets to the podium adjacent to the casket but still in front. Words spew out to form sentences then tears fall out of himself after being perched on the edge of his bottom lid for a while. And quite literally I felt all of the emotions tethered to me like our souls were intertwined for this one moment which will never resurface to happen again. And finally I feel it hit me hard, he with his torn face uttered, “ She was never a love I deserved, yet I was still hers. I know this is supposed to be smoothed over but her rawest form needs to be recognized. It was never fear she felt but motivation, she made darn sure her presence was felt and it’s the details of which made her everything, even near the end when so much life had been sucked out of her already. The way she teased without ever pushing it too far and how she would always carry her patience with everyone, even when she was mad it was inspiring-” This “she” was placed in the casket, with her jet dark hair framing her square face and and her complexion so fair but it had always been that way. Finally I leaned against the wood that was containing her, wailing like no one could hear me, cause they couldn’t. They hadn’t in weeks and soon I turned over to attempt seeing all of them for the last time through my tear-blinded pupils even though none could know I was saying goodbye. Except then his eyes met me, Colton’s eyes, the sweetest I’d ever felt against me, they were pierced into me and I even believed for a second, pure relief that he too was saying goodbye back.

About Isabella Gibeault 357 Articles

Bella Gibeault is a sophomore at Clayton A. Bouton who although is usually known for her artwork and ambition for it, writing has been a temporary pursuit for her in the absence of time and motivation to create tangible work. She hopes that perhaps you can find enjoyment through her piece.