«I understand,» I nodded, and the lights went out again.
The next time I woke up, they did something to me. It wasn’t scary, I only wondered why they were sticking a tube in… well, «there’. They also did something to my bottom, but it wasn’t painful. Then, the word «hospice’ came up, and I knew I was dying. I was upset because people die in hospices for a long time and suffer (I heard stories about this when I was Mariana), but I wanted to die quickly. But a man who looked like an angel (he even had a halo2) came and said there would be no hospice because he would take me away. I understood that the man was Death because it’s male in Germany. I was very happy and agreed – well, that he would take me. And the man who was Death told me that now everything would be fine and we would all live in a big house, bright and comfortable. I chuckled because I’d never heard anyone describe a grave to me like that before.
It must have been a month before they pulled a tube out of… – well, out of «there’ – and put me in a wheelchair, which, of course, made me cry. Some curly-haired boy, whom Mr. Death called «son’, appeared beside me. It turned out that Death had children too, so only I was alone and unwanted. That boy, who was Death’s son, caressed me and began to ask me not to fear because everything would be all right. Then he hugged me, and I prepared to die.
«What are you doing?» the boy asked me.
«Getting ready to die,» I answered honestly. «When they die, they piss and poop, I know, so I need to sit there like this so the women don’t get angry because they need to clean too much.»
«You’re not going to die,» the boy said as he looked around.
Immediately this man, who was Death, came up and took me in his arms. It was so gentle, so warm that I cried again because I couldn’t help myself.
«Why is she crying, Daddy?» the curly-haired boy, who reminded me of someone, asked.
«Because she had no one, son,» replied the man holding me in his arms. «Depression is the worst executioner of special children.»
They put me in a car and took me somewhere. Probably, to the cemetery to bury me there. Nobody wanted me, where else would they take me from the hospital? Either to an orphanage or to a cemetery…
Fiancé
We didn’t come to a cemetery but to a house. At the house, a woman met us, not like the one who came to the ward, but a very different one. She was kind. She said her name was Ms. Elsa, but I could call her… mother. I cried again because I got Mother, a real one, can you imagine? And the one I called Mr. Death turned out to be Dad. And the curly-haired boy’s name was Herman. I was definitely in a fairytale because that couldn’t have happened to me.
«Do you want us to adopt you?» my new dad asked me.
«Can I not be adopted?» I asked and explained immediately, «Well, not for real because I could pretend that Herman was my fiancé and I would have a future.»
Dad smiled, and the boy (he heard what I said too) seemed to be on the verge of tears.
«Do you need a fiancé for the future?» Mother smiled.
«Well, if there is a fiancé,» I shared my thoughts, «Then one day there will be a family… I know I’m going to die anyway, but just for fun, can I?»
My mother cried and allowed it, and Herman hugged me and told me how good I was. It got so warm, it was impossibly good. I had no words at all, only tears. I cried a lot that day, more than I think I had cried in my whole life.
At lunch, it turned out that I had little willpower, and the pain made the tears flow. Dad even scolded me a little.