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Jane Cummings sat still in the Lotus position in the middle of her sparsely furnished living room, her mind focused on nothing, her body in a state of relaxation.
It had taken her the guts of nine months to clear her mind to this extent, the journey hadn’t been easy.
Ten months ago, on a warm May evening, she had walked with her daughter along their regular and somewhat scenic route. Mostly fields, with a stream snaking through them offering the wildlife a drinking place if they should need one.
It was on this walk when Jane’s life was to be changed forever. The local newspaper had termed it a “Tragic Accident”, the following morning, while also being clear that the blame lay in the lap of an unnamed “Drink Driver”.
Even after ten months had passed, if Jane was asked to write down a list of events, she wouldn’t have been able to. She just knew that one moment her daughter was holding her hand as they walked and smiled, taking in the beauty of nature, and the next she was sat in a private room of the Hospital, crying uncontrollably as a Doctor tried his best to convey a sense of understanding, while explaining her daughter was gone.
Looking for a comfort in the universe and a sidetrack to take her mind off the continual pain and emptiness, she had turned to yoga at first and then onto an internet guru who promised many wonderful things, purely through the power of the mind.
Her experiments had been futile at first, she couldn’t even even move a small, single sheet of paper. But as she worked on her relaxation skills and began to focus and remove herself from reality, things started to happen.
Within a few months she was able to move solid objects, not heavy but of a fair weight. Her confidence grew, as did her hopes.
The guru promised that anything was possible, the only limit being set by the mind itself, and the person in control. She had liked this idea, it offered a fantasy, a reality of her making.
Once her mind had begun to wander around the thought, moving objects seemed futile, a waste, unimportant and pointless. She began to focus on her loss, those sparkling blue eyes, the smile that lifted her senses even on the busiest and most brutal of days, her daughter who had meant the world to her.
A plan was formed. If indeed, anything was possible, why not aim big? If she could travel back in time, there was nothing to stop her from saving her daughter, restoring her life and bringing back the one thing which really mattered in her existence.
Months passed and time remained constant, she couldn’t move backward or forward, regardless of how she focused, how she meditated, how many positions she sat in and how many times she cried with frustration.
In the last few days, there had, however, been a breakthrough, a small one, but a breakthrough all the same. At not long after 11 O’clock on the Thursday night, she could have swore she had felt something different. A new level of meditation, she thought.
In her mind, as always, she pictured the smile of her Daughter, the whites of her eyes twinkling under the rays of the sun, her skin golden from a holiday they hadn’t long returned from.
She even pictured the scene, the fields, the stream, a rather cute squirrel sitting by a tree, eating something from it’s paws. She’d watched as her daughter smiled at the sight, her little heart fluttering with excitement. Then it ended.
Over the next two nights, she did the exact same thing, each time getting further. On one occasion she was able to reach out and touch her daughter, she could feel the soft woollen material of her cardigan, cool from the breeze.
As she sat on the floor, her pulse lowering, mind slowly drifting into images of nature, honing in on a field from miles above, she spotted the familiar site of Mother and Daughter, hand in hand, the smiles becoming apparent as she neared.
From her lofty position she saw the car. Blue. It turned corners and got closer.
She saw herself stood at the edge of the road, Daughter’s hand held tight. Looking directly at the car as it approached, her arm reaching out, pulling with it the weight of her three year old, her body forced into it’s path. A twisted, knowing grin etched across her own face.
She watched as the child, her child, connected with the front of the car, her body crumpling on impact.
She opened her eyes. Tears streamed. She folded onto the floor, arms stretched out in front, her body convulsing as emotion took over.
When Dorothy used her key to open the door to the flat the following morning, walking into the living room, her eyes were immediately drawn to the motionless form of her Sister. The small empty pill bottle still gripped in a frozen fist.
THE END.
Don’t Damn Me!