Spittoon U Corner gives students the opportunity to showcase their creative writing.
Edward has been like this for nine months.
He woke up at 5:00 every day. More precisely, he lay in bed and left the bed at 5:00 every day.
There was hardly any sleep. At midnight, he always cried out and woke up with tears on his face.
“Catherine…”
“Catherine…”
I heard him calling out every night. The voice was mixed with acute distress and anguish. It was sometimes loud and sometimes low, and it was getting fainter: one can sense the life of its owner draining away just by hearing it.
I was with him every day, but the feeling of powerlessness still overwhelmed me from time to time: he wouldn’t laugh when I tried to amuse him; he wouldn’t respond when I expressed my love to him; my bedtime kisses seemed only to make him frown and deepen his nightmare.
His face drawn and white, his hair grew long and ragged in whirls of curls. Only in nine months! He has turned from the handsome and vigorous young man to this ailing and emaciated stranger.
Edward would sometimes dart a glance at me, but always quickly averted his gaze. I was not disappointed. I kept talking to him—not in the hope of his response but wanted to be with him as long as I could.
However, today has been quite different.
Edward slept till 7:00 this morning, and then went out with his face carefully shaved. He brought in a bouquet of yellow roses and put them in the vase that has been empty for so long. He walked to the sea in the evening, and there was such a relaxed and laid-back look on his face even to an extent of a smile—which I haven’t seen for a long time.
Yesterday night he didn’t even have a nightmare. The expression of his sleep was rather sweet and happy.
I sighed imperceptibly, and my delight at his improved state was tinged with a little bitterness.
I looked at him and asked myself.
“Isn’t this what I longed for?”
He sat beside the table, a goblet of red wine reflecting the glare of incandescent lights on the marble top. He hung his head and looked at the glass thoughtfully. I noticed the wine was of a little darker colour than usual.
“What are you thinking about, Edward?”
“Catherine is not coming back anymore…We have to accept reality, don’t we?”
“Those who are alive should live happily. You are doing a good job today.”
I sat opposite him, muttering those words uncontrollably.
“Catherine.” He suddenly lifted his eyes and looked straight at me.
I felt his gaze was about to impale me.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll be there with you right away.”
He raised his glass and drank it up quickly and determinedly. I was still reeling from the shock of what he had just said, pondering what that look and those words meant, and all of a sudden I understood.
“No!”
I yelled out.
It was too late. His eyes started to darken. His head gradually dropped to one side. I frantically walked up and tried to wake him.
“Edward! Edward!”
Strangely, this time my cry was not in vain.
Edward still closed his eyes, but a voice behind me said:
“Catherine, I miss you so much.”
Tang Jiaxue is a junior student in English Language and Literature at Beijing Normal University. She enjoys fantasies, believes in the power of literature and art, and is obsessed with the notion of authentic communication and universal love among human beings.