At home she kept the truth to herself.

At home she kept the truth to herself. She did not know how to share it. Anyway, everyone was busy, getting ready for the party. Her mother asked, "Have you been to the doctor? Why did not you go to the hairdresser?" It was just a by-the-way question, needing no answer. She briefly said, "I am not going to the party!" She went upstairs into her room and locked the door. She stretched out on her bed fully clothed and listened to her family's voices, as if they were coming from a far away place.

The wind seemed to her to be a funeral sad tune, lamenting her approaching death. The bedroom seemed strange to her as she would be leaving it soon. What about the house? It would not remember her. She was just a guest. Others would take her room and soon forget her. She tried to cry but tears did not help. She looked around her in pain. Those curtains that she had tried so hard to get, would stay after her.

It would not have mattered if they had been made of the roughest fabric, she would leave them for others. She wished she had not troubled herself for such things. She wished she had saved her time and money for more useful things, which could have been helpful to her in her difficulty. She wondered, "What is useful to me?" She was young, beautiful and rich with everything her heart could desire. Could anything help her and save her from death?

She had always longed for an official job with a good salary. She had it, but could it save her from death? An idea struck her. She hurried to the phone while everyone was away. She dialed the doctor's number and asked eagerly, “If I travel abroad can I find a cure?" He said, “There is nothing new abroad. It is a waste of money." She put the phone down and sat on a nearby chair. Her salary would not change matters. She walked through the house's rooms as if saying her farewells.

She paced the small garden and looked at the trees. She whispered, “I wish these trees knew I am leaving them, those stones, walls...I wish these doors knew my hands will soon no longer open them. I wish those flowers, that I planted and watered knew. How often the thorns and hard stones tore my hands! How often I watered those dying flowers with my tears when there was no water. I wish they knew the meaning of my departure. These fruiting trees were tiny when I planted them.

I did my best to help them flourish until they grew up healthy and fruitful. Will they know I am soon leaving? Will they remember my days in their company?