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The Other Side

Collection of Shorts

By Sidra LestradePublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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"I didn't have enough time," the man said to the other.

"We all have enough time," said the man behind the desk. "You just chose to use yours differently."

Harold was 57, a young 57-year-old man. He had two daughters: Evelyn, named after her mother, and Emmanuelle, after his favourite actress. He also had a son named Eric. Harold had a fascination with alliteration. All his children had names beginning with the letter "E." For some reason, Harold had always boasted this at parties and get togethers. "We're the Evermore's," he'd say to a colleague at a work party. He especially liked that his wife and children had the initials "E. E." like his favourite author E. E. Cummings.

Practical, sturdy, slightly proud, Harold stared at the man behind the desk as he thought of all this. His beautiful daughters were so fair, so kind. They had delicate striking features. with eyes like their mother's, brown and deep set against olive skin. His strapping son, already 6'4" and only 20, was fierce and wild like his father at that time. He longed to see his face again, hug him again, bring him in and smell his curly hair. Kiss his wife, who he adored, and embellish his daughters who he cherished. He wanted to read that E.E. Cummings book that he never got around to. At that moment, the man behind the desk began to speak again. "Mr. Evermore, have you heard me, sir? You chose to use your time differently. We've all been given the same amount and now sir, you must come with me."

Harold was hesitant to get up and follow the man behind the desk. For some reason, he didn't quite trust him. He looked like any other man. But, something in the manner of his speech and walking made him seem different, something more, almost extra terrestrial, or other worldly for Harold. Proud, sturdy, sensible Harold did not believe in aliens. He took in the scene around him. The walls, desk, chairs and everything else in the room was white—not off white or eggshell, like the walls in Harold's summer home on lake Narraganset in NH, but a startling white, blinding white, like when you take a peak at the sun and look away, without sunglasses on white. The first sheet of printer paper white. A white he'd never seen before. This alarmed Harold. He was a fan of cleanliness, a habit learned after 35 years with the same meticulous wife. But this kind of clean seemed cold and clinical, like the inside of a operating room.

Harold had only seen the inside of an operating room once. He remembered the day. It seemed like yesterday. Harold was almost sure that it was yesterday. But it would've been impossible as he was sitting in front of this strange, almost human-like man, today. He was also certain because he had all these other memories that surely happened after his operation, like watching Eric run a semi marathon, or walking Evelyn down the aisle at her wedding. That wedding date was after the operation. He remembered it. The wedding was set for October 18, 2012 and today was... He did not know. He looked at the strange man's desk, at his fold out calendar. To his surprise, it was April 13, 2012.

April 13, 2012 was the day of his operation. April 13 was day he had the by pass he'd been putting off. April 13 was the day he'd last seen his wife's dark brown eyes, and the doctors assured him, his beautiful wife, his kind daughters, and his son, his pride and joy, that he, Harold Evermore, bright, fit, young, proud, sturdy, sensible, Harold Evermore would come out of the surgery fine. So why or how did he end up here, in front of this strange, less human, more other-worldly man's desk? How did he end up in this all too white room, with the too white chairs and desk and walls? And where was this strange, alien-esqe man taking him? At this moment, Harold heard an alarming noise.

At first, it sounded like a scream, a two-syllable scream. Then he realised it was a voice a voice saying a two-syllable name. Harold couldn't quite make out the name, but for some reason it seemed dear to him, like a name he loved to hear. Harold, looking for the source of the noise, got up and started to walk back. He did not remember coming in that way, but something about it seemed right. The alien, non-human-looking creature called from a distance.

"Sir" he said, "you cannot go back through there. The way is shut. You must come with me."

Harold, paying no attention, continued down the long corridors, opening one door after another searching, always searching for the two syllable scream. "The name," he thought, "who is saying that name?"

One hall lead to another and still Harold was no closer to finding the voice, that alarming voice, until finally, he walked through the last set of double glazed pristine white doors. The name that was being called was his own. He heard it from the other side. He could not see the scene that unfolded, but he could imagine it. His beautiful wife, with her well-set dark brown eyes filled with tears, was saying his name Harold, Harold, Harold over and over again. His children, his lovely children his two daughters, and his pride and joy son held each other and their mother while silent tears fell from their eyes. Harold pushed and pushed, trying to get to them, but the door would not open. All of a sudden the non-human, alien-esqe looking man appeared. He said the only thing he had said all day. "Sir, we all have enough time. You chose to use yours differently. This way is shut, now please come with me."

Harold Evermore understood now. He was dead, so close to the other side, to his loved ones that he held so dear. But the way was shut, and there would be no entry from here. He would have to go with the angel of death. Onwards to the other side.

grief
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About the Creator

Sidra Lestrade

Hi everyone, I’m Sidra – I’m thirty-something around the way girl from Boston. I live in the most lackluster apartment in the most amazing city, Paris! I use this outlet to express my short works of fiction. Follow my blog at sidlavie.com

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