This is a piece that I wrote awhile ago. I didn’t like it at the time but looking at it now I think it could be turned into something. Anyways, thought you all might like to see it.
I recoil from the thought of his death, but I cannot escape it. Every time I close my eyes his face flies through my mind. That memory, the memory of his death, sends me reeling. The scene consumes my every waking thought, but sleep is no refuge. No longer are my dreams a haven, instead they now offer only nightmares.
Regret threatens to consume me, as these memories haunt me. I was not there. I promised him I would make it. But I was too late. Too late to save the one I loved. Instead I watched him die, leaving me with only the promise of madness, slow driven insanity as my regrets haunt me. I have known all along that someday death would part us, that even with all the power in the world I could not stop it, but now? When we are both only eighteen? How in all the world can goodness exist when this can happen? How can goodness exist when a broken promise, a death, leave a young woman in the iron grip of her remorse? Forever I will remember the pain on his face as he died. But the most haunting thing of all? I know that he saw me in the crowd of watchers, I saw the glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Yet even while he bore the pain of this torturous death I saw the same tender love there in his eyes that he always used with me. Understanding, as if he knew I would fail in my quest, is clear on his face. I know he did not blame me for the horrifying tortures he endured.
How does one pick up the pieces of a shattered life? Go on when there is nothing left to live for? What small beauty the world held for me died with him, leaving me with nothing to hold onto, no hope whatsoever. What is there left for me? In eighteen short years I’ve lived more than any other I’ve met. I’ve gathered the experience of a lifetime, now perhaps that lifetime is ready to end, what is left to do? I have had the romance of the ages, fought for the last of great causes. And where others failed I have succeeded. I will be remembered, so why should I take the rest of the pain that life has to offer?
Men came today, and begged me to let them bury his body, telling me that it will begin to rot soon and that I must not continue to deny what I have seen with my own eyes. I curtly told them that I do not deny it, I simply refuse to allow my future to fade without proper mourning. I do not tell them that I have already preserved his body and taken it to it’s final resting place. Only I know of the place where time will not ravage him, only I will sit there with him for eternity.
Later that same day women of the village came, telling me the same thing the men did. Their words hold a little bit more comfort in them though, some having lost their own lovers. But none could understand what I go through now, none have experienced the passion on so many levels that I have. They tell me to hold on to life, though I wish to die. Though anguish has consumed me.
“What left have I to live for?” I snap. They would like to reply but they cannot answer. I am right, nothing exists that ties me to this life now he is gone.
They insist that it will grow easier with time. I know it will not.
Another lifetime to live and I will be haunted the entire time? No I refuse to bear it. Another lifetime is too long to be haunted.