LazarusUsually you liked coming here. A quiet place, a place to think, to reflect. But today it feels different. Colder. Darker.
Black clouds chase across the sky as you make your way past the countless metal rectangles embedded into the concrete floor.
You see a single ginkgo tree standing in the middle of the vast areal, the leaves illuminated by hundreds of tiny blue lights interwoven with the fragile branches of the tree.
The memory of your first visit here crosses your mind. You were always amazed by the elegance of the concept. A light for a life. Simple, yet powerful.
You arrive at the tree, take a left, then a right turn. The metal plate starts glowing in a faint blue, contrasting it from the others to either side as you come closer.
You kneel down, feeling light rain on your skin. There it is again. The uncertainty. The guilt.
You feel a lump forming inside of your throat. You swallow. A single word makes it across your lips — "Sorry."
The bare metal touches your hand. It's warm. Of course it is.
A familiar voice in the back of your head: I know.
Your hand jerks back as if the warm metal burned your pale fingers. You are not ready. Not yet. Not today.