Tears may fall from them,
But my grief cannot be seen,
I watch as they mourn.
Tears may fall from them,
But my grief cannot be seen,
I watch as they mourn.
I waited for him. For so many years, I had dreamed about the perfect man and in a matter of seconds I knew that it was him. The second I saw him it was perfect. His jokes. His smile. Everything. Perfect. Completely compatible. Completely happy. My dear, when our eyes met my life changed and I can’t thank you enough for the love you fill me with.
We met in university and his perfect image never shattered through those years because he truly was perfect. I never thought I could love anyone more. I didn’t expect it to be reciprocated. Perfect.
We officially were bounded together in the summer under the sun, the perfect temperature on the best day. I wore ivory and looked beautiful. He had such a careful expression when he saw me and everyone’s eyes were on me. We said our vows and he even let out tear. Our names were put on the bottom of the paper and it was done.
And for many years I did believe everything was perfect. I loved him. He loved me, I was sure. Everyday since I met him there was never a bad day. Everything was perfect, just as I let myself believe. I couldn’t think otherwise. I never argued with him or fell out, I did everything to please him and achieve my perfection. But somehow on any other day it didn’t feel perfect. It felt gloomy. I refused to believe this omen and was determined that when I got him I would continue to be the perfect wife. That’s what we both wanted.
I went home and couldn’t believe my eyes. I saw him there laying in bed naked with another girl on top of him. They were still making noise and she kept screaming his name. They didn’t notice I was there. It was the most humiliating thing ever. They were so loud. So I let out the biggest bloodcurling scream which would be sure to leave him limp. Or even notice me. Both of them looked at me. There heads snapped back and there I stood in my tracks still screaming. The moisture going down my face I believed to be tears when I touched them they were crimson red. It was blood. My blood. He and the unidentified woman tried to make themselves as decent as possible. He put on his boxers and gave her his shirt. She stood there with fear in her eyes wearing his shirt. He tried talking to me but I couldn’t hear. My ears were ringing. Was I still screaming? My throat hurt. His lips were moving. Did he mention divorce or love. He tried moving me but I can’t let him touch me with hands that touched her. I grabbed the vase with flowers he bought and smashed it over his head. He fell to the floor. Now my hands had his blood too. I could see our crimson red mixing together. The girl ran over to his body. “Don’t touch him bitch,” I said while licking my finger tips. I felt a bit better while she screamed. “Please if you love him then call for help, just let him live.” I laughed as if I was watching a comedy movie. I laughed as she begged and then picked up a shard from the vase to cut that disgusting face of hers. She didn’t scream anymore and her eyes were still. More steadily she said, “do what you want but make sure he lives.” After that, it become boring. She was too composed. And with that it was all a blur.
When I came to. There were flashing lights. Blank. A man in a suit shouting. At me. Blank. A woman in a white coat. Blank. Red pills. White pills. Blank. I still saw his smiling face. Did he visit? These were dreams. I’m sure he saw me when I was blank. I wasn’t me. I didn’t know who I was anymore. Too many blanks too much darkness. I’m confused. I curled in a ball. Seeing the pictures of his face. Then her. The woman. I looked up and saw an old lady staring back at me. She had silver hair which looks like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in years. It was long and covering her face. She wore simple white clothes. Her pale wrinkly face, with her puffed up eyes and sour face. She looked like a horrible lady. I threw something at her and she shattered. She was gone. I lay on the floor.
The next day a newspaper article was published. It was entitled “The Long Life of a Strange Lady”. It told the story of a deranged woman. She started off as a normal young lady. Attended school, very educated, very capable. Until she met a man. Let’s call him Val. Val had never seen this woman before but he caught her looking at him and just seeing her in more places. At first he thought nothing of it but she told everyone that they were dating and she would leave notes and gifts for him. She described herself as being very much in love. Val never spoke to this woman and was already very much in love with his current girlfriend. This put a rather large strain on their relationship. He would avoid this woman even going as far as moving when he believed she was following him. But when he moved into a quiet neighbourhood with his girlfriend who was now his wife, the other woman followed him. He filed a restraining order and began to be a little scared of her. One evening while he and his wife were performing their “marital duties”. She intruded into their house and began to scream and started to hit herself, making herself draw blood. She then proceeded to hit Val over the head where he experienced blunt drama to head. The woman cut his wife and stabbed her in the stomach. The wife was 2 months pregnant. With Val on the floor and the wife bleeding, the woman laid next to Val with her arms entwined in his and that’s how the police found her. Unconscious. Val suffered from a severe concussion and his brain also had psychological problems. He dealt with unbearable headaches until his death. He forgot about that night but would often remember parts of that night in flashes which further strained his mind. Even though he may not have completely remembered about the events that transpired on that night, his wife did not. She was close to dying. Beaten bloody to the point of death. She spent 4 months in a coma and not only lost her child but also lost all feeling on the left side of her body. The pain she felt was unbearable, facing it to be almost alone. This is when she convinced her husband who was already in an unstable state to aid her in the taking her life.
Exactly one year after his wifes death, val he fell to his demise when he jumped of a bridge. Which can only be assumed to be suicide.
The lady who started of this chain of tragedies has died 40 years after his death. She was been put in a psychiatric ward. Not had one visitor or even made any friends. Her funeral, set up by the ward itself out of formality, had the nurses who looked over her attend. They pitied her and felt sorry for her, they knew what she did was wrong. But when everyone they see have done terrible things not even by their own will and still have visitors. She had no family and was by herself until she met him and all they could do was pity her because she was alone. and as the casket closed on her pale lifeless face there were no tears shed. Where everyone saw a lady that drove two people to death by a voice that was not her own. She was a woman to be so desperately lonely still craving her first love.
There once was a time of utter turmoil in the world. The earth was in distress making the idea of living absolutely menacing. Everywhere and everything was war torn.
Those people left behind- Those who did not die in battle, or in poverty, or by the hands of mercenaries- roamed the land to look for a way to survive. They lived off scraps. They lived alone in their sadness. To be left alive was luck but to live was not lucky. They watched their families die before their very eyes. They saw the devolution of humankind and the death of humanity. They had no solace. They survived for the sake of simply not dying. There were still many people who chose to die by their own hand when the darkness became too much. These people were envied for they had escaped, no pity was wasted on them.
The battle of the land was over but the war never ended. In this desolate place, the remaining life is often forgotten and the dead live on by their mourners.
However, there may still be life. Over the dull sand and under the blistering heat stood two young adults looking for survival.
Creative writing is something in which I am very interested but need a lot of practise in. so I thought I should try one of those challenges. The challenge is I generated 5 random words and I have 15 minutes to write a short piece on it. I think it would be a good idea t do these regularly.The five random words are:
(Note: this started of as a normal piece but as I went on my character was just talking about death and hope, so I apologise in advance.)
Despite the fact of the ongoing funeral, the afternoon was quite brisk and very much alive. The chairs were set out poorly, with no real sense of space. The rows of chairs almost resembled a school assembly instead of the reality. The casket was there to remind the guests of this. It laid at the front, it was closed, of course. Just a standard wooden casket, like anyone else, this person was once a living breathing person but was now just another body in a casket. The guests had a look of regret and sorrow on their faces. The distraught wife clinging to her napkin but consciously hoping her mascara doesnt run. The kids who know were they are but are not affected by the news. The parents who enter looking as white as sheets whilst wondering where the time went.
The staff had straight faces, feeling no obligation towards the man in the casket, but why would they. He would just be another statistic to them.
People meeting up in one space to celebrate the dead seems like a grim thought. However, it doesn’t need to be. Death isn’t happy but it isn’t necessarily sad. The person is gone but it doesn’t diminish the memories we shared and make it less important. Quite the opposite, in fact.
It’s rather weird to think of death like this. A person has left this world and eventually everyone else will too. It’s often says that every humans downfall is death, these people are wrong. A humans downfall is that they fear death. They sit around wondering what it would feel like, what there last words would be. Others embrace death, and it’s for these that there are hope. They don’t crave it nor do they fear it, but this hope in human nature is very much like a drug. It keeps you wanting more and often blinds the addict. However, this hope is much stronger than any narcotic I have ever come across.