Requiem. This was the first thing she said to me. Requiem. This was the last thing she said. I did not know her, not in this life at least, but she seemed to know me. It was the way she looked at me, much more than what she had said. No one had made eye contact with me in so long, but when she did I felt recognized for the first time in eternities.
Requiem. This is what she said to me as she passed me in this place of mourning and remembrance. She passed me for I was still and seemingly unable to move from my present position. As I pondered this word more it became more mysterious to why she had said it. It was a word that did not hold much meaning to me, but she said it as if it would. Was she trying to tell me something. Was she trying… The longer this experience lingered in my thoughts the more familiar she appeared to be and the more captivated I was with her word. Her eyes were surrounded with dried tears and her voice was a folly between fear and care.
Who was she, I thought to myself. Who was she and why was she here? I had often drifted to this location to be alone. For in this place I was encompassed in true solitude, no longer surrounded by eyes that would stare right through me. But why was she here? An abandoned sanctuary on the outskirts of town is a rare place to find a companion, even as brief as our interaction had been. Her perfume… It was so familiar. It was as if I was embraced by its aroma and comforted in its stay.
Who was she? Who was she? I was still standing there. Transfixed by the wake of her presence. Human contact can be utterly intoxicating when one is deprived from it for as long as I have been. Requiem. This is what she said to me. This is what she said. An unholy sacrament to those long dead. Was I dying? Was I already dead? I have often thought these things from time to time. Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes sense, but then again what difference does death make to those not seen. Maybe I was dead. Maybe she was just trying to make me aware. Aware of my own untimely condition. Or maybe I was just going mad.
As I sat down on the steps that lay before the altar long empty I found an air of rest. I had been standing for so long I thought I had forgot the comfort that can be found in sitting with one’s legs stretched outward. There was a smooth breeze that rustled in through the broken stained glass windows. It had been blowing on and off for some time now. Every once in awhile its flow disturbing the dust that had come to set in this vacant, holy place. And as the dust gently fell upon new spaces I gazed up at the only thing left hanging. The Crucifix.
The slain God stared at me, just as I was staring at him. His agony… My agony… They seemed so much the same. It is no wonder so many had come to pray at his feet for he was the universality of those who suffer, of those fated to die. Requiem. Her words soon returned to me as I drifted back to thoughts of her. Requiem. Requiem. Who was she? Who am I?