If you think Twilight: Breaking Dawn is the Best Thing Ever (!), you probably shouldn't watch this... He-he-he.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
TALKING PHOTOS #2: Record
|What see you?|
He was alone, like he always was these days. With nothing to do, time stretched before him like an empty notebook, no pen to fill its stark pages.
She was his work. His job, his hobby, his occupation. Now she was gone, there was only nothingness left to sit by his side in the late hours of the evening; stilling his fidgeting fingers and squeezing his aching heart. On this night, his mind, as it was prone to, wandered to the hour she finally lost the fight.
“C’mon babe, we’ve been to the brink and back, we can get pass this. Breathe, Sarah. C’moon!”
Her wheezing was the only reply to his words. His hands fluttered and soothed, rubbed and caressed; doing what they always did – this was their dance, she ailed, he nursed. But even he had known, although he’d never admit it to himself, that her end was near. Her smile had grown dimmer, her eyes drifted away more often than ever before. She was slipping from him, sand through fingers.
She shook her head, stilling his hands. Her heated chest rising and falling slower than his heart. A butterfly tug had his hand clasped in hers; his cheek flush against her burning one.
“Babe…” she whispered. “...love...”
He didn’t bother protesting, tears hotter than her skin escaped his eyes. His shoulders hunched forward. “I love you, Sara. Don’t go.”
Her soft breath escaped her mouth in frail gasps, the meds he had consistently forced down her throat now hanging like a vapour over their heads.
And these were the last words she spoke; most of them undecipherable, lost in the abyss between life and death. When they had come to gently wrench him from around her cold body, first time at that temperature in a long long time; he coiled up into himself, rocking to their favourite concerto.
Now, his mind went back to her words. Ash. Record. Ash record. They had tons of records and he had gone through each one but none came in an ash casing. He needed to understand what she meant. What her last words meant. Frustrated, he reached for the record that had helped them through many a painful night, and him after she… left.
Spreading his fingers over its purple casing, he started to pull it out then froze. A memory fluttered to him, not unlike the trickle of breeze that ruffled the hair above his neck. In that moment, he felt her presence.
“So sad we live in a state with no beaches, I want to die in the ocean!”
“Please, no death talk tonight.”
“For real though, imagine my soul dancing with the waves. It would be perfect. The agility… zest that I lacked in life, I’d gain in death. Tumbing and rolling and...”
“Okay. Enough now.”
“Grumpy gramps!” She’d said before sticking out her pale tongue.
His hands traced the waves on the record cover. Yes, her ashes belonged in the ocean.
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