literature

That Moment, That Heinous Day

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Literature Text

From the moment I turned around, I realised that I desperately wanted to take back what I had said. I didn’t hate him; I didn’t want him gone. All I really wanted was to be loved, for him to reciprocate my feelings. I knew that even this little pantomime of mine, which starred me in the lead role as the tantrum-throwing and attention seeking bitch, was pointless. Tomorrow, or, if I could hold out long enough, a few days from now, I would be back. I would have realised that the reason he didn’t show his feelings with equal vigour was due to his traumatic past, and I would slink back apologetically.

He was calling me back. I tried my hardest to ignore it, but it was futile. I slowed my frantic pace, and allowed rationality to flow back into my mind. I put my hand to my breast, to find my heartbeat, fuelled by the hot fire of anger, had begun to slow. Perhaps this time I could end the foolishness early, and we could go back home and enjoy the night happily, rather than succumb to the self-destructive urges I felt all too often. Why not? Variety is, as they say, the spice of life.

I turned to see him standing in the same place he was when I left, waiting patiently, his eyes sad; almost mournful. I could only assume that this was how he looked every time: this was the first time I had come back. I took a tentative step towards him, and he took one towards me. That simple action summoned images from all those cheesy soaps I had watched as a kid, images of couples running towards one another, arms outstretched and crying. Ironically enough, we began to do just that. I suddenly felt so incredibly happy, a complete turn-around from  just a few seconds ago. A testament to how bi-polar I could be at times, if you will.

Bill reached the road before I did, glancing each way briefly before entering the crossing. His eyes met mine, smiling, as the car hit him at the hip. I staggered to a halt, screaming, as I heard the sickening crunch that was his hip shattering. The car was travelling way too fast for a residential area, but to me, it seemed torturously slow. As Bill’s head collided with the windshield, I saw the driver’s gaze snap upwards from the radio, the horror obvious on his face. Bill cart-wheeled through the air in an almost elegant fashion before colliding with the road, bouncing before sliding to a halt.

I was by his side in an instant, and lifted his head from the bitumen, holding it lightly, and looking into his eyes which were, unbelievably, still bright with that same happiness I had seen before the impact. His gaze floated around feebly for a few seconds before locking on to mine just as a trickle of blood entered his left eye, reddening it. I tried frantically to speak, tell him how much I loved him, tell him I was sorry, tell him a hundred other things, but all that would come out was an incoherent, teary babble. He coughed weakly, a bloody wad of spittle thrown to his chin.

His body was a mess. His right leg looked as though he had just received a new joint almost a foot below his knee. A dozen spots of blood were growing on various parts of his body, and the ground was slick with the substance. People were rushing to our aid, but I hardly noticed them. I kept my eyes locked on his, and that is how we spoke our last words to one another. His eyes spoke of forgiveness and love, even as they faded and dilated. He didn’t die dramatically, like in the movies where they died on some last words or last task, but slowly, slipping away.

My useless and shocked form was wrenched away from his body as people tried desperately to revive him. People were milling about another few scenes, other people who had fallen victim to the driver’s inattentiveness. The driver was staggering about, also shocked, and I felt that if I had the means, I would have undoubtedly killed him in that moment. It was later that I realised that that course of action would not be the way to go. I would be incarcerated and then my daughter would have no one now that her father had died.

For what seemed an age, I sat there, crying. The love of my life, gone, just like that. I felt helpless, but mostly I felt afraid. What would I do now? What could I do? My thoughts instantly went to my daughter, and the son on the way. It was them that I would live for, and I took a simple comfort in knowing that he would live on through them. As I was carried away, my thoughts were with Bill, my love, even when it had started to turn sour.

You will not be forgotten.
Well, here's a sad-un. Yet another of the little proto-storylings that i felt needed to be written down.
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selahdreams's avatar
Wow.

That was amazing.