Day Five:
I am dead…surely, I am dead. I lay in bed this morning staring at the ceiling. Was I still in this world? Then why did I feel nothing? I blinked…opened and closed my eyes…dark, light, dark, light…in time with my pulse. My pulse…
No. No, I am not dead. I am sure I am very much alive. If I were dead, I think my heart would no longer be beating…nor aching. No, I am not dead…I am simply living in my grave. My tears wash the ink from the page as I attempt to scratch out the words.
I recall: my heart – my child – my son – or, at least the younger one – he asked for his inheritance. I gave it…I gave it all. I divided all I had between the two of them…two shares for the elder and one for the younger, according to the law. I was quite prepared to live as a dead man in my own home. All I have is now theirs…I will simply live off the proceeds, like a parasite on a tree.
But now…now…O God in Heaven, is it really true?
My body is still on this earth, but am I still alive? I am still here, but he is gone. Aaron is still here, but he might as well not be…he is avoiding me. He is disturbed by my anguish. Even the servants scatter when they see me coming.
At first, I was deeply offended – no, wounded. Like someone had shoved his arm down my throat, ripped out my heart, trampled it in the dust, and then discarded it on some trash heap. Now, I live without my heart. Alive, yet not alive…
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