Gabriel Martin was falling. The world could have turned on its side and he could have walked on the sky, as though gravity was slipping away like the blood from his final wound. At first, moving was impossible; now it seemed overrated. He was falling asleep, and each time he spoke he would wake himself up again for just a split second. Maybe speaking was overrated too. Beneath him.
If moving sounded appealing, Gabriel might have rubbed at his eyes or shook out his ears. Both seemed to be slowly filling with cotton. Sound muted. The earth snowed. Father's face still lingered stubbornly above him, though. Irritated, Gabriel was about to tell it to go away (it was too sad to look upon) when the features changed.
His Anne, his beautiful Anne, was looming over his head, and her face did not make him hurt to see. Hers was happy, light, as lovestruck as the day he spun her around as Mrs. Martin for the first time. A snow angel, he thought.
"Gabriel," whispered Anne, smiling and crying happy tears. Her smile was still stained inky-black. Her Gabriel didn't mind. It was how he liked best to think of her. Suddenly, he had the most peculiar feeling that his teeth were, too.
"Anne," he said. Her hands where curled around his. They were warm. They made his word warm. Why did poets always say death was cold?
Anne bent over her husband's face, with a dazzling and somehow childlike grin. "Come with me."
"Where…where are we going?"
"A place I want to show you," she said, incredibly softly. "It's so lovely."
"Warm fuzzy romance" is my favorite genre to write :). If you liked this, I'd really appreciate you checking out some of my other work!