Day four.
I have just woken up, freezing – checked my watch and it is just past 3:45am. The window is shut, blind is down. Outside is pitch black. I tried to turn on the light, but the electricity doesn’t seem to be working. Tested phone – no dial tone. So I am shivering in my coat writing this by the light of my mobile phone. In my impulsive rush to leave England, I stupidly didn’t pack for cold weather. I have been thinking about going and meeting Saran if he is still in his shop, and leaving this notebook with him. It seems like the most appropriate thing to do, leaving my short diary in a bookshop. Will have to brave this cold though.
*****
I must have fallen asleep again for a few hours, woke up to some shouting outside. I looked out of the window, now a very dark greyscale, and I couldn’t see anyone. Still bitterly cold – colder than any winter back home. I’ve just wrapped up with several layers of clothes and been downstairs to the reception to find out if there is any breakfast, but there doesn’t seem to be a soul around, let alone anything to eat. The office door behind the reception desk was open, but there was nobody in the room, just an empty chair sat at a tidy desk, and a computer with a blank screen. Aside from the shouting earlier, everything is silent this morning. I opened the door to look outside – even colder – and the street was empty apart from a few figures moving about outside other darkened buildings across the road. I saw ice on the motionless cars. The creak of the hotel door sounded like it was echoing for miles.
It’s strange to think about the way things have gone over the last few years. This so-called Shutdown could have happened on any day of any year since I lost Louise. I’ve worked hard, been promoted a few times, had a few friends I could go to dinner with, but mainly been alone, and missed her; talking to her, just knowing she was there. The one that got away and is never coming back. If only I’d taken her where she wanted to go when I had the chance.
I’m not scared, I’m not even sad. I’m calm, and for the first time in a long time I’ve felt a sense of purpose, and now accomplishment, or something. This was the right thing to do. I’m going to use the rest of my t-shirts to make a scarf and protect my head from the cold, and go to the bookshop to say goodbye and leave my book. My only regret is that I didn’t start writing sooner – I suppose I had nothing to write about, but I believe it’s kept me going, keeping my thoughts in order as I put them down on paper. Writing was always something someone else did. Like dancing, or playing the guitar.
If anyone ever finds this on the shelves in Saran’s shop and picks it up, know that the end was dignified and quiet, not chaotic and confused. It’s been a good life.
****
writtendown 