Life and other Disasters

Ava had the dream again. That dream about a house surrounded by mist, a house full of apples, a house full of faceless people who were waiting for... something.

There were three sisters - one with black hair and a lantern shining brighter than the sun, chasing the horrors away, leading you home. One with red hair, who smelled like apples, like warm fuzzy thoughts, like happiness. And the one as pale as bone, the one without a name, who would take you to a place beyond time and space.

There was a river, lovely on the surface, but hiding something gruesome. She had tried to bow down, to see what was hiding underneath, but the river didn’t want to give up its secrets.

And then there was the tower. Appearing out of thin air, and when Ava almost reached it, she would wake up.

The doctor said it was probably one of the side effects of the anesthesia and all the other medications she had during her time in the hospital.

“When time passes, the dreams will disappear as well,” he said, but Ava wasn’t sure she wanted them to disappear.

The dreams felt like they were memories of a better time. There was only one problem - she couldn’t remember being ever in a house surrounded by apple trees, nor a tower that was built upon the air.

Slowly she made herself ready for the day. Not that she had to - her days were not filled with activities, yet. She was still going in and out of the hospital, for checkups, for therapy, for research. The doctors kept a close eye on her, monitoring everything there was to monitor. Although they started to become more lenient, and she slowly gained back her life.

The doctors had told her she could ask them anything, but the most important question they couldn’t answer.

“Who was the donor of my heart?” she would ask.

“You know I can’t tell you, Ava,” the doctor said. “The family doesn’t want that information disclosed.”

But that didn’t stop her from trying to pry some information out of them.

“Was he young or old?” she tried once more.

“What makes you think it was a man?” The doctor looked disturbed as if she had hit a nerve.

“So... it was a man?” Ava said, making a mental note.

This time the doctor ignored her question and continued his examination of her scars.

After the surgery, she had stayed with her parents, but soon she found out that it didn’t work anymore. She was grateful that they took care of her in those first weeks, but in the end, she felt smothered with their good intentions. They had treated her as if she was a porcelain doll, and it left her irritated. Yes, she just had major surgery, but she was recovering, gaining strength, and became less vulnerable by the day. She wanted to spread her wings, build up her life again, wanted to create a new life.

Her mother had freaked out when Ava had told her about her plans.

“You can’t be serious about this,” she had said to her daughter. “How can you even think about this after everything that happened to you?”

But Ava ignored her mother’s pleas.

Before she left the house, she grabbed a gift from the counter and put it in her pocket. In front of her stood a shiny motorcycle. Her shiny motorcycle. She had never had the urge to buy one, but since the transplantation, it was the only thing she could think about.

She mounted the machine. Learning how to drive had been easy as if she had done this a thousand times before. With a turn of the key, the motor started purring like a content cat. Whenever she heard that sound, her heart filled with joy.

Ava drove the bike through the street, going faster and faster. Sometimes she thought someone was sitting right behind her, wrapping his arms around her, urging her on to go faster.

But when she looked back, no one was there.

During her recovery time, she had time to research the answers the doctors couldn’t give her. She had worked through newspapers, obituaries, puzzling together who could be the donor of her heart. She had to know, she wanted to know.

Due to the nature of the donation, she had a timeline, an estimated time of death. There were some articles in newspapers about a tragic accident where a car had hit a motor driver. Still, due to privacy, there were no names printed in the paper. Now she had a date. And she had all the time in the world for more research.

And she found what she was looking for - a name that confirmed her expactations.

A sign indicated that she had almost arrived at her destination, With a wide turned the motorcycle to the right, parked her bike just outside the graveyard. Once more, she checked the register to see where the grave was that she was looking for. It was an old graveyard, and she had to walk quite a distance to where the newer graves were. It was a quiet place; she was one of the very few visitors that day.

Finally, she found the grave she was looking for. For a couple of minutes, she just looked at the tombstone, checked if she was in the right place. Then she pulled out the little gift of her pocket, brought it to her face. There was nothing as good as a red apple. She smiled sadly as she placed it on the grave.

“Thank you,” she said.