I know I didn't stick to my one story a month thing, but I had too much going on and basically couldn't get anything together enough to publish. However, I was still writing the entire time, which was the whole point of this exercise, to keep me more or less writing constantly. So I'll be posting the stories I did manage to finish and hopefully I'll be able to put out a few more by year-end. Anyways, enjoy the angst and let me know what you think! I wrote it as StanxPete but can be read as PetexMichael or whomever.
It was surprisingly cold out today. It seemed odd for how little snow there was on the ground. Or perhaps, it was just that Pete felt the cold more today.
He made his way through the familiar path of the cemetery. It had become so well known to him he could probably find it with his eyes closed. That was an unsettling thought. Finally, he stopped upon a gravestone.
"Hey." He said quietly as he kick at the bits of snow left unmelted in the grass. "So I'm back, like I said I'd be. Not that you should really be surprised. I always come back." Pete took a deep breath and sighed. "This never gets any easier." He muttered, more so to himself than the chunk of rock.
He sat down at the far edge of the small monolith, leaning just at the end of it. If he turned his head, he could see the inscribed name. It almost felt like they were sitting next to each other. Almost. But it didn't, because they weren't.
"So, where were we?" Pete asked rhetorically as he stared down at the thick collections book he'd brought along. He flipped through the pages to the one marked by the attached ribbon. "Oh, right." He muttered as he remembered where he had left off reading. He took a breath and began to read out loud.
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
Pete paused here and ran his fingers over the words. He stared at that last line, feeling his throat swell thick with a feeling he didn't quite want to name. He looked to the engraved letters of the stone for a moment before continuing on.
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
He paused again. Pete hadn't thought this poem would be difficult to get through, and yet his tongue felt dry and foreign in his mouth. It didn't matter that he'd read this poem a million times before.
He skipped down a few lines.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Pete slammed the book shut with more force than was necessary. He stood to his feet quickly, feeling the need to move. He could feel something bubbling beneath the surface. He had spent so long repressing the reality.
His legs were stiff from sitting and the chill of the air but Pete could no longer feel the cold as he turned to face the headstone. He stared at the block of mineral in silence for a long moment. The granite stone was so familiar it haunted him. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see it clearly, carved into his eyelids. And suddenly Pete was angry. So angry.
Angry with him for leaving. For being gone before his life even started. "Fuck you." Pete seethed with a glare so vicious he hoped the stone would burst into flames. "I hate you." He wanted to scream but the words were barely a whisper. They sounded weak. Broken. Because they weren't true.
Because more than anything Pete was angry with himself. Angry for being stupid and not recognizing what he felt. Angry for pushing his feelings aside and dismissing them as nothing. And angry for the regret he felt. Because he never talked to him. He never spoke the words he so desperately wished to speak now. And he was just so, angry. A red, hot rage that bubbled up and consumed him to the point that Pete thought he might burst into flames. Oh, what a blissful end that would be. Welcomed.
He sank to his knees. The rage ebbed away like a star that burns out too quickly. It leaves him with only anguish and agony. And he wonders if he's allowed to cry. If he's allowed to feel this way. Does he have the right to? They weren't even really friends and he regrets more everything he didn't do than anything he had done.
Pete reaches up, tracing his fingers over the inscription he's read a thousand times.
Stanley Randall Marsh
Beloved son
Cherished friend
Taken before his time
He leans his forehead against the cool stone. A welcomed sensation on his flushed, warm skin. "I miss you." It's a small whisper swept away in the silence.