Soon
A poignant hush fell over the cemetery as I took the stand.
Dark clouds dominated the late Sunday afternoon sky, threatening to penetrate the city below with its liquid occupant.
A party of at least a hundred sat in rows of ten, the front row reserved for family. There was no family here today.
The scent of rain haunted the air. It was as thick as it was vacant.
Not a drop touched the ground.
I couldn't bring myself to write what I had wanted to say. It seemed that there be no words to describe the bond we had, the life we shared.
I had looked into the mirror that morning, and saw a stranger staring back at me.
No spark glistened beyond the blue iris of my eye; no emotion had played on my face whatsoever. So life, nothing.
Was this what death felt like?
To have no soul? To be a shattered mirror?
That mirror, was shattered.
I had looked down at my fisted hand, and thrust it through the glass.
A thousand pieces of shattered mirror, of shattered self, circled me, stalked me.
They had stalked me the way she would. They played with me; they teased me, held me by a thread, only to tear me in two.
It was pain beyond anything I had ever experienced. It was beyond the pain of a bullet to the arm, yet it was nothing compared to the pain of losing her.
My eyes had rolled up in my head that morning. That morning, I couldn't breathe. That morning, I wanted to die.
This afternoon was no different.
I tried to utter a few coherent words. Failed.
What could be said? What could be said to describe the most magnificent woman on the face of the earth? Stubborn. Selfish.
She was selfish. She took that bullet. She didn't have to. I was there. Right there. Yet she took it from me. She wanted it for herself. I hated her for that.
I had cried that day.
I had cried that hour.
I had cried that minute.
I had cried that moment.
This moment, I cried.
One tear, then two, then three. Rolled down my cheeks and fell into small pools on my shoulders.
I had begged her.
Begged her to stay.
I told her it was too soon, that we didn't have enough time.
Time.
If time had not been a factor, I wouldn't have hugged her.
If time had not been a factor, I wouldn't have shed those tears.
If time hadn't been such a prick, I wouldn't have had to watch her.
I didn't want to see that.
I held her in my arms and spoke with her.
I knew she was fading. She knew she was leaving. She smiled as tears fell onto her soft cheeks. I had pulled her close to me and whispered in her ear. Begging, pleading, wanting. I told her help would arrive soon; she just had to hang on.
She told me something.
I cried.
I wept.
I told her I loved her too.
More that life itself. I wanted to take that bullet out of her and shove it into my heart.
I had kissed her, the first time, the last time.
God I had never loved anyone as much as I did then.
I held her in my arms, listening to the breathing. The breathing. In. out. In. out. In. out. Nothing.
I had pleaded for mercy, pleaded God to let her stay.
There is no God.
A couldn't speak to her colleagues, her brothers in blue.
I couldn't tell them what they didn't already know.
I couldn't tell them her last words.
I couldn't.
I lay there that night. Pouring crimson defeat.
Soon.