The fragility of human life

Every day, gazing at the sun, Anne searched for the truth of life. She peered out at the world through a thin layer of glass hidden in the window frame. "A strange landscape, containing many secrets, even full of an extraordinary force of life," the girl thought. Sometimes she saw a white mesh of snow on the ground, other times a meadow dotted with multicolored flowers, and it took a real effort to avoid those silky petals and green leaves. She

looked away, and a gloomy image of a gray room appeared before her eyes. Here and there, shades of the rainbow flashed, as if forcing themselves to brighten the grayness of the world...

She was only fifteen years old, and each day she reaped the fruits of her labor. She didn't have many friends, because society itself closed itself off from her diminutive figure whenever she appeared in company. She was interested in the fates of people from earlier eras: she knew the names of most philosophers and their views. There wasn't a single Greek myth that escaped her attention.

She walked over to one of the walls perpendicular to the window. She glanced into the mirror in the old mahogany frame. The reflection showed a figure with long, fair hair that flowed stiffly across her face, not fully concealing her green eyes. They were eyes with a wise gaze that never failed her in brief conversations with her classmates.

"School again tomorrow," she said bitterly. She disliked her because of the students who gave her their mocking smiles every day and talked loudly about her with twinkle in their eyes.

Sunday evening was drawing to a close. She sat alone at the table and repeated the last lines of the poem: "A cloud reveals the moon, a cold, silvery light falls on my face. The Silver Lord..." She stopped suddenly. Why "The Silver Lord"? After all, the moon is white, and the craters on its surface cause gray furrows to appear from the Earth; they look like wounds. The minutes dragged on mercilessly as she stood silently, pondering the solution to her problem, which was so simple that no one noticed. Perhaps there were people who had gone completely mad, studying every detail of every planet in the solar system. She gave up trying. She decided to riffle through all the astronomy textbooks she could find when she had more free time. She tacked a note to the enormous corkboard in her room: "Why the Silver Lord?"

Monday morning arrived. Ania dragged herself out of bed and hurriedly ate a meager breakfast. Little did she know that this day would irrevocably change her life.

With a large navy blue bag over her right shoulder, she ran to the gates of her school. The building resembled a large yellow box with numerous attached corridors and segments. The girl sighed and crossed the threshold. She was to spend a full seven hours here.

"Just as I suspected," she said, seeing those faces she'd thought about with distaste the previous day. Bad humor wasn't a feeling that often lingered in her mind. Truth be told, she wasn't familiar with it. She usually remained serious. No one could understand why she was like this.

The beginning of class was like any other early lesson: a whole crowd of sleep-deprived people yawning everywhere, including one—Anna, sitting upright, wearing a black jacket with a white collar—usually active. Usually active, but now she didn't even volunteer to express her opinion or draw conclusions. She was pondering the Silver Lord. She didn't want to share her problem with anyone because she felt the others wouldn't give her an answer and would even laugh at her.

Time seemed to fly by twice as fast. Anne walked home alone, absorbed in another book; she was absent. She crossed the street in the crosswalk, but didn't cross. She lost consciousness...

She woke up after a few hours. She saw faces bending over her. She was lying in a hospital bed. Everything was empty, and the windows were covered with snowy screens, providing light shade. She felt a terrible pain in her left side. She couldn't raise her head, because every attempt brought agony. She lay motionless, haunted by thoughts: "How long have I been here? What happened?" This question tormented her most.

"Is something wrong with me?" she asked the tall, kind-faced nurse. The nurse cast a searching glance at Ania and, with a grim expression, began sweeping the floor again. She was probably unsettled. Ania didn't want to wait any longer.

"Ma'am!" she shouted hoarsely. "Can you explain to me why I'm here and why my left side hurts?"

The woman stopped and, placing her hands on the broom handle, said quietly:

"You were hit by a speeding car. You're crushed..." She didn't finish, but it was enough for the girl.

She took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. "So she was hit and now she's waiting for her sentence. How long will she stay here?" she wondered.

The clean door swung open, letting in some light. The doctor entered and, with a grim expression, approached the patient.

"How are you feeling? You were almost sent to the afterlife. It was a drunk driver. I can't answer the questions that torment you yet. But I have to tell you one thing," he stared at the floor, "you'll never be able to walk again in your life. I'm sorry, but you have to know the truth..."

Ania didn't know what to do. All her plans were shattered. She wanted to be a philosopher, learn about other cultures, and travel the world. But how could she realize them in this state?

* * *

It was two in the morning when she woke up. Fear gripped her. She remembered every detail of her dream. It was a nightmare.

"...She was sitting in a wheelchair in the garden next to her house. She was trying to find reality and consciousness in the shade of the cherry leaves. And then, as she was examining the plants closely, someone pushed her forward with great force. She rode forward, unable to stop. She fell from the wheelchair..." She

had previously been unable to imagine such a life, but now, when she met it face to face, she understood what anguish it was. For a long time, she stared at the shadows dancing lazily on the ceiling before sleep overtook her again. She woke at dawn to the sound of birds chirping outside. The pain was still there. As she silently counted the seconds, she heard the scraping of a chair against her ankles. Her mother was sitting across from her, her eyes ringed with salty tears and a whole box of tissues on her lap.

"Mom!" said Ania weakly. "I'm so glad you came to see me!"

Her mother looked at her caringly and shed another round of tears.

"Don't cry, Mom," the girl pleaded. "It's not your fault. No one can escape the fog that the future casts around them."

The woman quickly wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "But I'm your mother, and it's my duty to protect you!" she said.

They spent many hours together, and all of nature seemed to cry with them. Tiny, silvery raindrops slowly streamed down the windows. Days passed, and Ania slowly recovered, ignoring only the fact that she would never stand on her own feet again, much less walk a few steps. She could educate herself and explore the world, but only by lying down. She lived in blissful ignorance that her lifespan would pass sooner than expected.

"She's not well," the doctors said. "She absolutely must know this. She has at most a month to live. Let her make the most of it." The Medical Council decided to inform the girl's mother of the problem. The woman couldn't cry anymore. She decided to confess everything to her daughter. She wanted Anne not to waste these last days.

It was a cold evening, and Anne lay in bed, leafing through another book. And suddenly something struck her.

"The Silver Lord, the Silver Lord," she thought feverishly.

"Eureka!" she said with a smile. "I understand."

She felt wonderful. But as she gazed in wonder, she felt a weakness fill her entire body. She saw only blackness, as if someone were leading her to a vast cellar and extinguishing the candle flame. Then the darkness turned to gray, and then to white, which seemed even more terrifying than the black. She felt the cold drawing her deeper and deeper. She heard her mother's voice, screaming something. The whiteness vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She lay drenched in sweat. The hazy figures slowly took shape.

"Anne! My daughter!" her mother said in a trembling voice.

"Mom, I understand... I know what it means to truly live," she said, blinking slowly. "Now I have to go.

" "No, you won't!

" "I have to. Mom, I love you. I will watch over you from Heaven. I will watch over you..."

And she closed her eyes...

* * *

She walked along the magnificent silver-white road. Dressed in a flowing robe, she stood before a gate of pure gold.

"Be blessed," said the Silver Lord, and turned the key in the gate's lock.

Everyone will pass away someday. A fate not necessarily awaiting them is the same as that which befell little Anne. She left her soul in the hearts of those she loved during her life on earth and when she looks down from heaven. Memories will return someday. And we will all join her. When will our time run out? I don't know. Perhaps sometime far in the future. But not yet...