{"id":144,"date":"2011-04-24T11:43:00","date_gmt":"2011-04-24T11:43:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lidaprypchan.org\/?p=144"},"modified":"2015-07-20T00:40:32","modified_gmt":"2015-07-20T00:40:32","slug":"a-funeral-on-her-shoulders","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lidaprypchan.org\/?p=144","title":{"rendered":"A FUNERAL ON HER SHOULDERS"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\n<\/span><\/b>Story By Lida Prypchan<\/span><\/b>
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\n<\/span>How shall I describe Luc\u00eda, if Luc\u00eda was not particularly different from any other woman? \u00a0She had the same body, except that she was a little taller than other women; the same parts, only a little more turned on than other women\u2019s; the same dreams, but more tinged with frustration than those of other women; a similar character, just a little more sour than other women; similar sorrows, maybe a little more pronounced; similar joys, though sometime mixed with sorrow.<\/span>
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\n<\/span>She never understood the saying that there are as many joys in life as sorrows. \u00a0For her there were more sorrows than joys, though those sorrows weren\u2019t apparent in her \u2013 she was so accustomed to them! \u00a0She even looked like a happy woman: she felt extremely content when she had her morning coffee and smoked a cigarette; she felt immense joy at the slightest caress, whether from human being or animal; she felt happy, even though sometimes she could weep when she heard a song she likes; she experienced joy when she made a new friend, even though she never got to know people the way she wished \u2013 though she was always a little suspicious about friendship because it was so relative. \u00a0Despite the thousands of blows she had suffered, she continued to halfway believe in friendship and would feel quite stirred when taking a bath, as if that could purge her of her bad habits and impurities of soul. \u00a0She enjoyed the movies enormously \u2013 after all, as Beneditti said, what is life other than killing time before death gets to us with its sickening punctuality? \u2013and she delighted in dancing, as if that was a means of release from her powerful sexuality.<\/span>
\nLuc\u00eda went through life with a burden of loneliness on her shoulders: she spent endless hours driving around, thinking about the future, making plans, indulging in impossible dreams infinite hours living in the past wishing she could put back the damned time so she could do those things she\u2019d never had the courage to do. \u00a0Don\u2019t we always regret what we didn\u2019t do or what we didn\u2019t have the courage to say, spending endless hours of insomnia thinking about the meaning of life, infinite hours trying to find ourselves without knowing whether we\u2019ve succeeded or not?<\/span>
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\n<\/span>Luc\u00eda was aware that she bore her life like a funeral on her shoulders, each day closer to death \u2013 that\u2019s to say, each day a part of her inner self seemed to die. \u00a0Her body was like a car, wearing out little by little: each day it became more difficult to get her body going, as if its battery was running down. \u00a0All her dreams had died with her last love \u2013 and dreams, alas, can\u2019t be bought at the pharmacy. \u00a0Her secrets, too, would die within her, like the cigarettes she smoked, her opinions about others and about life, as well as her thoughts about suicide \u2013 which provided a little relief to her turbulent interior life \u2013 as well as the friends she had lost and those she still had. \u00a0Day by day all of this was dying in her soul.<\/span>
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\n<\/span>One day in trepidation, as if presaging her death, I called her and was told she had hanged herself. \u00a0She had left a note that said, \u201cOf life I knew no more or no less than my fellows; I could find no answers to my questions and others could not offer me peace with their answers, but I was able at least to anticipate death \u2013 or perhaps it was my destiny to contend with death before my time, or life that trapped me into death. \u00a0I cannot stand my doubts and I cannot tolerate my life \u2013 even less can I accept that death should take me unawares.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Story By Lida Prypchan How shall I describe Luc\u00eda, if Luc\u00eda was not particularly different from any other woman? \u00a0She had the same body, except that she was a little taller than other women; the same parts, only a little more turned on than other women\u2019s; the same dreams, but more tinged with frustration than … <\/p>\n

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