"Do you think that, when all of this is over—maybe one day, if you have the time of course, you could draw me a portrait?" She shuffled on the grass. The crickets were so loud, as if one of them was right next to me.
I thought we already went over this.
"I know this is not my body," the girl said. "But if you could do a portrait of me, it'd make me very happy."
I don't want to.
"You drew Margaret. I mean, she's the most beautiful woman in the world, after all. I really think she's the prettiest woman I've ever seen. I kind of envy her, to be honest. But even if it's not my body, and I hate the way I look, I still wish I could have a sketch of myself, with me on the paper. I just want to see what it'd look like… I know it's stupid… and I know it's a big favor to ask, but—a sketch from you would mean the world to me."
I don't want to draw you. Not you, her, or anybody.
"Why not?"
I didn't respond.
"There had to be a reason why you'd kept that picture for so long," she girl said meekly. "Even if you ended up throwing it away."
I should've done it sooner.
"She must mean a lot to you."
No. I don't think we ever really knew each other. At this point, she's a stranger to me.
Then the girl said, "I don't think the subject model is that important—Or maybe it is important to you... Would you draw me if I was a building, instead?" She pointed at a non-existent building on the horizon.
...
"Then would you draw me… if I was a tree?" She pointed at a coconut tree in the distance.
Depends on which type of tree it is.
"Then... would you draw me... if I was the sky?" She pointed at the sky. "There's only one sky to draw from."
Maybe I would draw you if you were the sky.
I swore I could almost hear her frown. She was genuinely confused.
"Why do you want to draw me as the sky but not as a tree? Do you hate trees?"
I don't hate trees.
"Are you treephobic?"
That's not even a real word.
"Then why?"
Because.
"...?"
Because the sky will always be there, whether I decide to draw a sketch of it or not.
After hearing what I said, she thought for a moment.
"But even the sky can disappear someday—you know?" she said.
It can?
"One day, the whole sky just won't be there anymore."
Why?
"Why not? The universe came out from nothing, after all. If the universe and the stars came out of nothing, one day they will have to come back to it."
...
Right.
"East to West, North to South, in all directions—there won't be a centimeter of the sky left." She put her hand against the blue sky and pinched a small piece of it between her fingers.
So even the sky might disappear someday...
"I got you, didn't I?" she said triumphantly.
Then she leaned back and lay on the grass.
The dim constellations stood still. Even with the modest glimmer they had, they didn't dare to move, didn't dare to make too much noise when they breathed, as if they were afraid they'd be seen.
After a while, very quietly, she said, "Maybe I shouldn't have told you that."
The cry of the crickets was getting louder.
"If I hadn't told you that secret, then you would've drawn me as the sky. That would've made me very happy."
A portion of the living room remained. Two walls connected to a part of the ceiling, forming a small corner. Even though the crescent moon and the stars hung above under the black, unclouded sky dome, there was no light down below.
They'd all left. Every spider that had been mutilated in horrific fashion rose from the earth as if it had never known death, and soundlessly crept away.
How long had I been sitting here?
The girl was resting her head on my numb hands.
Her head was so small, and so light.
A strand of red hair fluttered on one side, gently nudging her.
She seemed peaceful.
It was so dark.
I could barely see the rubble in front of me.
Some of the fragments had edges that were probably sharp enough to cut through skin.
No light on the rusted, fractured walls, no shadows.
The sight was similar to something a fisherman would see from his deck every night.
Nothing. A vast sea of black.
If he looked down at the water, no matter how hard he tried, he would never see the bottom. If he looked around, he would not see streetlights from the shore.
He had sailed too far out; he could not even see the side or the masthead lights on other boats.
There had to be these nights when the familiar scenery would convince him that he truly was the only one left, and his fellow fishermen and the shoreline just a little beyond what his eyes could see had all disappeared.
In such moments, a tendency would creep into his heart, the impulse to abandon his boat and dip his toe in the black water. The inviting waves would wrap around his foot and pull him down in gentle rhythms as the ocean called out to him.
The bottom of the sea held the promise of sleep.
I heard the sound of buzzing.
The phone was right behind me, vibrating on the ground and grinding against the rugged surface.
A cool breeze picked up and blew into my ear.
Josh was calling.
"Go home," he said. "It's over." I could hear wind from the other end.
He was somewhere nearby.