I breathe in the sharpness of the cold air gladly. Another breath comes and another, my blue eyes shoot open and my pupils adjust dramatizing the rest of my blue eyes that seem to burst with colors during the adjustment. I sit upright in the dewy grass and inhale the scent. Everything is perfect and beautiful, the sky is blue, not bright blue but between dark and light leaning toward dark just as I prefer it to be. I smile because there’s no bugs, no sun and yet dim light coming from the sky. There’s a faint scent of the salty waters I had visited in Washington the year before. My senses are heightened and I can almost taste the water. I’m about to get up when an outstretched arm appears seemingly out of nowhere, the man looks and me and nods toward his hand. I take it and he lifts me up quite clumsily. I nearly fall because the lift up is so sudden.
“I’m sorry” he says.
“For what?” I reply, still looking around in wonder.
“Because I know how much this means to you. How much you love and want this. You’ve forgotten your worries and all you remember or know is the happiness that awaits you if you stay.” He says it with great pain as if every word stings the very tongue they roll off of. His accent is thick and Italian, I look up at him and see that he is very out of place here. Everything seems prestigious and clean here and I know I fit perfectly because of the state of my hands and the way I feel. He’s rugged with wrinkles and stubble on his face. Middle aged, dark brown hair and a grave look on his face. Yes, very different from all of this.
“You must understand I wish you could stay,” He says, “I am your friend, I don’t wish to hurt you. I wish to help you and your family.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask bewildered.
“This will sound crazy but trust me” he says softly yet sympathetically.
He leads me to a white door in the middle of the grass field. There are sections of different settings, they’re all uniquely beautiful. They are slivers that begin with the door and branch off to become bigger and resemble a clock in format.
“Understand that this is your perfection, these sections are what you want, they’re the natural beauties that you love. You can choose to stay but that door will vanish. I need you to go through the door, I know it’s a lot to ask from you and that you’ve not known me for very long but it’ll be for the best I promise.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing and after a minute I finally respond “Why?”
“They miss you too greatly, it wasn’t in the book, it was a mistake. I fix those mistakes” He answers.
“What book? I… I just don’t understand” I stammer.
“The book of destiny, the book where your futures are written, rewritten and set. New things are put in it daily but the book made it clear that although things are always in motion and changing your destiny of this day cannot. Too many things would come after. It would set off a deadly effect. That’s why you need to go back. I’m sorry, I wish you could stay because it is really beautiful you know” he says.
I look up at him and feel this need, a need to go through the door. A warmth caresses that feeling with the reassurance everything will be alright and so I open that perfect gleaming white door and step through.
I do not find perfection through the door. I find a broken body, sad, mangled and bloody with tubes stuck into it. The beeping is steady and people are crying and a middle aged woman is holding her hand. MY hand actually. It’s the truth to hard to bear. Tears stream down my face as I suddenly can’t walk nor breath and I go back to being broken and I know what comes next. I have to be put back together. The man picks up my broken mangled soul, the one who had been in that perfect world and paired it with my broken mangled body. The last thing I remember was his smile and a soft thank you. He told me to remember the scars wouldn’t define me. That I should love myself because my beauty was on the inside. He would find me again when it was time.
And then I woke up broken and in pain, choking on the lump in my throat wishing for perfection again.
There is a place in which nobody goes. A place in which the living are never home. A place where the dead roam. Its a place where you will be all alone until someone comes to bring you home.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My mother told me when I was eight what love was like. True love in her words. I wonder what happened.” She says.
“Stop it Emma” Her father says.
“Apparently it wasn’t true love!” She screams angrily. “In order for it to be true love both parties have to be in lov-” she’s cut off by him slapping her across the face.
“It wasn’t my fault she killed herself because of it I didn’t know” her father screams enraged at his daughter’s outburst.
“AND IT WASN’T HER FAULT THAT SHE APPARENTLY WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU. IT WASN’T HER FAULT THAT YOU LIED TO HER ABOUT YOUR LOVE FOR HER BECAUSE YOU COULDN’T LOOK PAST THE DAMN SCAR ON HER FACE.” She screams the words so loud her throat hurts.
The very same year her mother told her about love was the year her mother was attacked in her own home. She was slashed across the face, her eye swollen shut. Ever since then her father just didn’t look at her mother the same.
“Your mother chose death. She chose the easy way out and I’m sorry because I know that’s hard for you.” Her father says calmly.
“The easy way out? YOU CHEATED ON HER. YOU HAD A WHOLE OTHER FAMILY WHILE BEING WITH HER AND IF THAT WASN’T ENOUGH YOU BEAT HER AND YOU CALLED HER NAMES!” she screams.
The look on her faces displays fear as she knows she’s gone too far.
What are you doing? I think. Charlie Sanders runs across the street. I stare I can’t do anything. I shouldn’t care what he does. Then it happens. I most definitely care about what he’s just done.
“CHARLIE WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?” I scream.
He lays in the middle of the street. No cars are around. Just him on the ground in his own pool of blood with a black gun in his hand.
“What in the world?” sunlight peered through the blinds in my apartment.
I could of swore I closed those blinds, and then I see it. The window latch is broken. I get up off the couch quickly and grab my gun up off of the couch. I move cautiously through my apartment looking for anything out of the ordinary. God I shouldn’t have testified against that guy. William Albert had killed two men without leaving fingerprints. I was the only witness and no one had believed me. They said Mr. Pottenger had committed suicide and so had Mrs. Albert. But I watched him push them over the side of the patio. He threw Mr. Pottenger over because he witnessed it as well. People said that not being able to save Mrs. Albert is why he committed suicide but it just didn’t add up. There’s this whooshing sound and I’m knocked against the wall. I struggle against the body ontop of me.
She wills it all to stop. She asks it all to just go away and leave her alone forever. It doesn’t. It follows her your own shadow when the sun is bright and hot. It stings like sharp thorns on vines wrapped around her arms and legs. Love hurts, but it shouldn’t hurt this bad. Its unnatural the pain she’s in. It was a unique breakup, but then again every breakup is.
She turns, her arm visible in the bright full moonlight, bite marks cover her arms. He looks like a shadow, a quick one though. A shadow that could be at one place and then another in less than a second. He looks through her with those unforgiving black eyes. Tears run down her face but she wills the tears to stop because they like it when you cry.
“P-p-p-p- l-l ease” she chokes out.
His sharp teeth glitter in the silver light.
“I thought you loved me?” He asks her, the tone of his voice dark but smooth.
Perhaps like velvet? He inches closer gracefully. He bites her like he always does. The expression on her face is one of shock and horror. Tears run off her face. She continues to cry. She screams. The screaming stops. Her body slumps to the ground.
The worst part is she did love him although she didn’t want to. Although he did horrible things to her. Although she got weaker and weaker each time he visited. The pain became an obsession, a hunger. So she let him in. She allowed him to enter her home. Because she loved him. She loved his dark eyes and his dark hair. She loved the angle of his cheekbones. The hunger, the need, her obbession. Most of all her undying love was what killed her in the end. But the very worst of it was, that the monster loved her too. But he couldn’t control the thirst.
He slumps away, his dark eyes focusing on nothing. Walking over the blood stains on the carpet, and he tries to cry. But he can’t. For everyone knows that the dead cannot cry.
The ground rumbles. Everyone looks around at each other confused. Not this. The ground falls through and we all scream as we go down. Some of us fly up into the air. The couple take hold hands. They know what is going to happen. Sweat and dirt fill our faces. I can’t believe myself. I cut the wrong wire.