Experimental Heaven

"Mommy, would you tell me a story?" she asked.

Then she told her a story about a flower bud and an angel butterfly.

"And when the morning was not shining, there was a small voice from the bushes under the hedge of a big tree: 'Where is the sun? I miss of its warm hugs,' said the flower very sad," her story with great tenderness.


The night was so quiet and silent as a request for a burried mumbled. Not as many places, in this room was all so meaningless; the wall and ceiling even still white; the mattress was no like as white goose feathers; the smell of drugs; cold-clear glass that was empty; tulips in a vase slander; and fruits were not fresh anymore increasingly limp on the table.

A patient was being tarnished in the soul.

"Mom...?"

"Yes, dear. I'am still here."

Their hands grasping one another. Their view were drown each other.

"What is a heaven like, mommy?"

"Heaven is like a garden whice is always full of a light rain. So beautiful, my dear."

"Have you ever been there, mommy?"

"Often. And always, my sweet heart."

She paused like to imagine.

"Yes, mommy... I can see it." she changed her pallid face brightened. Blooming on her beautiful smile.

"No..! Not now, honey. Not now...!" her last request was not granted. The tight grip of their hands was off.

She was now drowing herself by tears.

"Heaven is like our home yard, sweety. It is like a flower that we always treat together. Please don't go... Please... It's been waiting for us there, my sweet heart."

Her head rest nearly to her daughter's cheek that increasingly cold. But then her eyes fixed on something to the medicine that her daughter always drunk.

"Damn doctors are gonna pay for this, my sweetheart." Her mumbled eventually spread now.


And the night was silent then. The wind corcerning stems, knocked on the glass window behind the curtains open that invites to play; the light of the moon crept quietly sheltering them from the siege of darkness. Nothing was bouncing off over the room, just a few framed pictured near them.

Their faces were facing each other, so that their shadows appeared close together scattered by the moonlight until their aura to the end of strand of hair, like the warmth of the assembled into a bouquet of flowers, like the memories are always stored.