She was in death’s pupa stage, it had cast its mantle over her and she never left this phase -until the end.
It squeezed her so tight she couldn’t breath. This instar is a temporary cover to protect from the initial state of life’s shock. Life clung on. Death tore it asunder.
Couldn’t let go
Couldn’t manage its enormity
Couldn’t face the world
Not now anyway
Death at any time is difficult, sudden death is like Sisyphus hiding from it, it is going to get you, and you just can’t prepare for it.
She wasn’t prepared for this.
She needs now to peep out at the temporal world and in time she will see the eternal and peace.
Nothing material for her.
The thread of life is fraying she is hanging by a whisper.
You can never forget anything that is connected to the Gods.
Once the thread of life is cut it will never be severed from your own self.
Pulling off the pupa is difficult you can’t force it but you can help it. As she lay transfixed the wind of her hands went over her body.
The negative spirits and energy were being pulled out of her.
Don’t fight it.
The panic rose. Slowly she was told let it out as the wind of her hands dragged all her energy away.
She herself could feel the dead life in her; it was if the instars had welded together, she wanted to sit up.
Her back was a selection of monticule like calcified stones; a cold stiff chrysalis where kneading them did nothing.
She then realised she was dead inside. Death was there alive waiting.
She pulled back her shoulder and pressed her vertebrae as far as she could, all the way down tittles of ice like stones; this metamorphoses would take time. She tried the other shoulder gently forcing it as far back as it would go.
She lay back down, wait there, she got a crystal and oil.
Fear was washing over her, being alone in this state is punishment.
This chrysalis fought using a cremastral like hook on the watery cave.
I’m scared she screamed, I’m scared help me. I’m scared inside. I’m scared of you-KILLER.
She placed the crystal on her head, smell the oil.
She wanted to talk, the talk is over, it’s now doing time.
Continuously she swept her hands over herself, pulling from the stomach, releasing tightness.
Then the head was coming where she was crucified by thoughts and feverish memories. Memories untold long and tangled from eons ago. Vaporised-FUCK YOU.
Shush came into the room and she stood mesmerised.
The intensity of this extinguishing ritual was exhausting she felt the perspiration running down own back. It had to be done.
Would you sit up?
And they talked then for an hour.
Talk was of actions to take. And rest.
There was nothing she was hollow, empty, preta, sepulchral, effete, relinquished and free.
Lying there; the whole of life pushed out a last sigh. Whimper. Mucous covered and mantled: the end sluice gates open; swallowed.