She caressed the lump of blankets next to her in bed. She stroked the top of the lump lovingly and whispered little bits of conversation. She laughed to herself quietly as she curled up with this imaginary companion and closed her eyes. And she smiled. She smiled a smile that she only could muster in the comfort of her home, all by herself. In solitude, her alternate reality wasn’t that at all. It wasn’t an unreachable frontier, but rather a dreamlike world in which any happiness could be achieved. And to Alice Hindman, it was a world where she had a companion whom she could really love as much as she ever wanted to. In her world, she could love unconditionally.
Alice Hindman died on a Tuesday in 2004. Her body was found, wrapped up in her aging sheets, by a landlady who had no real knowledge of who she really was. She was never married and no lover came to her funeral. The people who did attend were only those that felt an uncomfortable obligation. And when they died, her name was forgotten. But on that cold Tuesday morning, Alice awoke from her dream world and for a moment, just for a moment, forgot that she was alone. For a moment, her worlds were one. Her lover had just gone to the bathroom and would return in a moment and lightly touch her face before kissing her. With that thought, Alice stretched her arms above her head and smiled to herself before falling back to sleep for the last time.
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