Deaths Remorse

“Death can’t reap your soul, I’ve booked his schedule solid.” My fiance stated as he sat by my bedside, his blank stare illuminated by the flickering torch light.

I had no idea how I almost married such a man, someone so treacherous and deceiving. Someone who would kill their whole country just so I could live. Why would I want to live with so many lives dead for just mine? They don’t deserve to die for me; he doesn’t see it that way. He told me once that I was the love of his life, and I believed him. That was before I turned into an obsession.

“Death will come for me, no matter how many you kill, I will die.” A crinkle around his eye and the corners of his lips turned up at my words. I felt sick to my stomach looking at the little smile painted on the lips of the creature sitting in my chambers. How could he still smile knowing what he did, knowing what he is about to do?

I thought of my mother and sister, as I looked at him. When he met my small family he smiled at them, just like that. That smile of his melted their hearts, they loved him. My mother, my beautiful, caring, kind mother wanted him for a son-in-law. She was more than delighted when he asked me to marry him. My younger sister, my dear younger sister. She loved him as well, she thought of him as a new brother, someone to look up to. My sister, the one I loved and protected, she was my brides maid.

I knew they wouldn’t be excepted from the slaughter about to happen, they may have loved him, but he never loved them in return. He only ever loved me, me who collapsed at the alter, me who was bedridden for months, me who would never get better, me who will die today no matter how many people he kills.

“They haven’t died yet you know. They are to only be killed as soon as you draw your last breath, dead at the exact same time as you. Death would be to busy to even come after you.” He said this all with a smile still fixed on his face and I wanted to cry. I wanted to plead with him to stop, I wanted it to go back to the way it was before, before the sickness before anyone died. I knew it would never happen, this is my fate.

“Killing others will not stop him, I will die, there is nothing you can do about it.” so please stop were the unspoken words. He only smiled wider at what I said his teeth showing. I was repulsed by his smile it reminded me of a monster trying to show emotion.

“Killing others will change everything, Death can be stopped.” He told me and I knew I could not stop the slaughter. My face filled with sorrow and tears glittered my eyes.

“Why can’t you let me die Phil?” I asked him almost pleadingly, the tears were making their way down my face and I was to weak to stop them. With his cold hands, Phil wiped my tears away and I tried to get away from his touch, but I was to weak to even move my head.

“I love you Eliza and nothing can keep us apart, not even Death.” Eliza wept softly as the clock struck midnight, three chimes flowing through the air.

By the third chime, Eliza was dead.

The chimes were still ringing through the air as Death made his choice. He took Eliza’s soul right in front of the eyes of the one that tried to save her. Phil watched as Eliza stopped breathing, he watched as her heartbeat stopped pulsing in her wrist. He watched as her eyes closed and a soft sigh of relief she took her last breath on this plain of existence.

Phil had no time to react, no time to blink, it barely even register in his mind that Eliza was dead, before Death came for him as well. Whether it was Phil’s time or not was debatable, but for trying to stall Death, for trying to stop the natural order, Phil’s soul is taken from his body and he is ferried to the land of the dead, right after Eliza.

As Death was ferrying the two he neglected the entire country dying because of a very large magical spell. An entire country meant to die as soon as three chimes rang in the air, as soon as the clock struck twelve they all were to fall where they stood. This was Phil’s plan, and it would have worked had Death not chosen Eliza.

Now, as the chimes stopped ringing Death came back to reap an entire country’s soul. A lot of things happened as the magic killed everyone. A grandfather held his grandson for the first time, tears in his eyes. A couple bestowed with each other kissed for the first time, they were each others first and only love. A child skinned his knee on the playground, his parents comforting him, he was surrounded by love. A florist fiddled with the bouquet in her hands, nervous to give it to the biker who comes by just to flirt with her.

Death came upon these scenes and for the first time in centuries felt remorse as he took the dead to their land. He felt remorse that so many happy souls had to go from this plain of existence just for the actions of one man.

The Other Woman

He loved Work more than he loved me. Work to him was a cherry-oak desk beneath a city of one thousand story paperwork. These paper skyscrapers had deadlines, but he liked the view. Work to him was the bouquet of fancy, sliver-lined pens and complimentary breath mints he got every morning of every workday. Work wrote him letters, and though a portion he thought heartlessly cruel, he filed every single one safely away in his treasure chest. Work gave him luxuries, I guess things that I couldn’t give. And soon he was hooked on Work like a fish on a line. And he discovered other fish because Work gave him an entire ocean of opportunity.

But Work left him a trail of to-do lists everywhere it went, yet he somehow preferred this over me. And all he left for me was a trail of his cologne, lingering on the air. I wrapped myself in his smell while he wrapped himself in Work. But Work was messy, and it passed this onto him, and then onto our marriage. Work abducted his mind and hogged all his thoughts from ever straying to think of me. I spent many late nights wondering when he would finally come home, and when he finally would, I’d find that he’d brought Work home with him.

My Sky

I used to sit and fix my gaze upwards… and I would wonder who I was meant to be.

My sky was meant to be painted in the raw spectrum of the rainbow, where every color jumped in vibrant exclamations of wanting to be great. Every hue in my sky was meant to be lurid and glaring, flaming in its brilliance, thriving in the pulse of its unlovely but spectacular color.

But instead, the sky is pale and pretty, painted from a pallet of clear, fresh tints and sketched from delicate pencils. Soft shades and sweet hues blend in loveliness… but I don’t want the sky to be lovely.

My sky was meant to bleed reds and greens, blues and oranges, yellows and purples, and every single shade of gray. It was meant to catch fire from the force of its unrestrained passion and daring fervency.

But instead, the sky falls apart like the petals of a rose, perpetually dropping in silence and taping itself back together with lines from forgotten melodies.

My sky was meant to be woven from drops of heaven sliding down the horizon like fallen stars. I was meant to hold a needle and thread so I could sew the curve of the sun into a seamless circle that ends where I begin…

…but instead, the muted hush of reality has hemmed itself into the lining of the sky.

my-sky-1My sky was meant to breathe in my ardor and breathe out a freedom that I could take and pin to my spirit to make it wilder. It was meant to curve so that it could fit the splendid arches of the rainbow. It was supposed to unite the strokes of sunrise at the horizon with the arms of trees reaching upwards to stroke the dawn. In its effervescent fearlessness, my sky was supposed to meet the demands of the world with a smirk written in the stars. It was meant to pull vermilion clouds into middle-finger taunts for those who overstep their grace – unashamed and strong. Bold and beautiful, it would be transcendent of expectations and limitations.

But instead, the sky is lined with tentative slips of mist that shyly offer themselves to others, too pleasant to consider brushing away the covers of cordiality.

My sky was meant to be a dome to cover every raindrop of my inexpressible sadness. It was supposed to guard the billowing winds of my panicked terror and stand strong against the depressive iron-bleak, snow-stilled winters. Against the wild rains and slashing sleets of my ire, my sky would hold together. It was supposed to fortify the scope of my emotions like a snow-globe that captures the essence of who I was meant to be.

But instead, the sky is gentle and carries only a trace of the emotion suppressed beneath remote breezes. The sky only just hints at traces of sentiment laced in the acquiescent spread of

My sky was meant to be a liquid mirror patchwork of everything I’ve ever felt, it was meant to bind the ranges of my rainbow to the steadiness of blue. It would reflect my lights and reflect my darks, it would safeguard the malignancies of shadows lurking between my heartstrings, and it would magnify the brilliance of moonlight playing among strands of my soul. To balance my wretchedness and my cheer in the steadiness of midday, my sky was supposed to blend the sunrise and the sunset in the swirl of daylight.

But instead, the sky hides its darkness behind the demure serenity of phantom peace and still nights that are perpetually holding their breath.

My sky was meant to bind my turbulent emotions to the ghosts of my tears, to take clotheslines of the words I will never say and braid them into the tresses of willow trees.

my-sky-3But instead, the sky is complacent. It’s satisfied with the sweetness of pale pastels. The sunrises are dusted with watered-down versions of rose and peach. The sky is simple and sleepy and the sun shines placidly. The sky is wistful, a quiet reminder of everything I could have been.

My sky was meant to be beautiful, daring, a quilt of everything I’ve ever felt, a patchwork of everything I want to be.

But instead, the sky is polite and pretty, pleasant and passive… predictable. It’s suffocatingly silent, shallow in its stagnant stillness. And it’s not enough.

My sky was meant to be dauntless and striking – I was meant to be dauntless and striking.

But I am not. I was meant to be so much more than this. But I am not.

Nowadays, I sit and fix my gaze upwards… and I wonder who I am.






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