Meet 26 year-old Elizabeth Hunters. A single woman, still living with her parents. She never went to college, never found true love or a job, she was a woman that didn't really begin to know the meaning of life, and how she wanted to live it, until the day she was found out she was dying... the day her life turned upside down. The day her life found meaning.
Earlier this morning, as I was laying in bed, remembering the dreams before last, the dreams like broken glass cutting through me as I thought deeply about my life thus far and the stuff I have already gone through as well as the things I fear I must still face, my fan broke.
Yes you read correctly. My box fan broke.
It was a cheap fan, nothing really special about it really, just an ordinary box fan. One of those larger plastic ones you can buy for around ten bucks at Family Dollar or Dollar General.
I had bought it something like 4 years ago in July as I needed something to block out the sounds of the animals outside. The howling of the neighbors damn dogs of all things keeping me awake.
From the moment I took it out of the box it had been running nonstop, 24/7. All throughout the summer, the spring, fall and winter I kept it running, all day, all night.
I had grown accustomed to it being there, got use to the security of the constant hum always being around me.
Familiar to the continued sound it made, so much so that when it died I noticed it right away. I noticed the sound was gone; the silence remained, and no matter what I did I couldn’t get it to come back.
Odd to be writing about a cheap fan as such but it made me think deeply about myself again.
I began to compare myself and my memories to the fan of all things. Will I be like that fan in the months to come? Will I be running like normal only to suddenly drop dead? The life in me stopping in an instant, no longer beating, no longer breathing.
More so I wondered, will people remember me? Will they miss my sounds, my thoughts and words. Will they suddenly notice me not there anymore? Miss the warmth of my presence, the indention of my body across the couch? Will I be missed, remembered or just forgotten?
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