I went to the Southern California Writers Conference in Irvine this last weekend and won their annual contest. Every year the higher ups choose one word, participants are then to write a story, incorporating that word. The word was “March” it has to be a word with more than one meaning. The story is required to be under 250 words with a beginning, middle, and end.
The march began. A slow, excruciating cadence. One by one, the days passed on by. We didn’t know how long she had, but we knew it wasn’t more than days. Brown eyes looked up at me, still beautiful and bright. I held her hand, so slight and fragile, afraid that it would break. There was so much I wanted her to know, so much I could have said.
I felt the heavens open above her, saw the angels all make haste. Today there would be a party up in heaven, a great homecoming. We talk of this and that, and she is once again animated. She prepares for her final journey, making herself ready for a new body, strong and free of pain, with wings that will carry her across eternity. Her lips quiver. There are no words of regret, no sadness, only love.
It is March fourteenth, when the final chapter of her life unfolds. She passes quietly with a small gasp. March fourteenth. I close my eyes, it has a message, it is Pi day, and pi goes on forever.
- Elisabetta Panzica