You cannot see out and they cannot see in. Until the sliver of light is sliced, favoring the inner's escape. The inner feebling in fear to view the what apart from the why. Those outside want in, at least to know what's there. And then? Binge viewing silence from either side.
People gather and express their loss in a quiet way at slow speed, just savoring together the comfort of sharing how subtraction feels to heart and skin. One among them is the first to try to claim the place that's opened up by way of the departure. Missing the point of sadness and rushing to fatten up the coffer at the first chance.
Don't misunderstand: She felt more guilt than any of the virgin martyrs and their hapless counterparts allegedly in heaven, but such guilt would never be enough to match what she had done and failed to do. As she prepared to let herself drift off to sleep she began recording in specific detail each one of her commissions and omissions and pined and writhed and empathized with everyone she had ever hurt especially the ones she loved the most not including of course herself
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