Maria's necklace

Maria, who lives upstairs, is over ninety years old. One day something that looked like a doorbell shone in her chest. She was hanging it on her neck like a medal given by the god of chants. It's probably since her husband Tony died.

She proudly explained the necklace, "When a person falls, the button is automatically pressed to contact someone and it is an alarm device to rescue her." On her a depressed day, she said, "If anything happens, cut the door key chains and take me to a hospital."

She was inconvenient to move and spent the whole day making a quilt. Her eyes were so dark that she can't pass to thread a needle. She waited for me, spending boring days until I came. She used to give me a quilt for our children.

The fabrics are Maria collected when she was young at a sewing factory. It was so old, it was torn apart and unusable when washed, but Maria, who didn't know it, made hard on a pretty piece quilt.

"Do you want a mirror, or a cup?" Whenever I visited, she offered me have anything what I like. "You sound like you're going to die tomorrow. I said."  As I get older, I feel sorry because I feel like I'm taking away their young and precious time when I've been with someone younger than me for a long time. Did Maria feel this way?

On the day Maria's fell, the buzzer alarm she believed firmly did not ring. The next day, I cut the chain of door's key. I saw Maria lying down on the floor. Maria fell back and the spit from her mouth left traces longer than her height. I called an ambulance.

The buzzer alarm necklace was still shining proudly in her neck, as if it had nothing to do with her death.