His eye, a nebulous white, speckled with crimson and icy blue, perhaps his most prominent and noticeable scars. A striking reminder of his past love affair and life. A feature that set the rest of his features far behind. The scar leads off from his eye like a stray flower stem, ending close by his nose, barely obstructing any of his attractive facial features. He seems dark, despite the nearly glowing pale skin stretched over his bones. He seems fragile, despite his near invincibility. His movements are ridden with catlike grace, every step seems well thought out and smart. He has a holy essence to him, but he, as a whole, is blasphemous. He relates himself to Jesus, cutting a crown of thorns into his gut with a well used knife. He says he knows why Jesus cried. He certainly knows why he cries. He knows the beauty of eternal peace… and he knows the injustice of having it just out of reach.
Don't look, don't look.
The stars seem so close at night. He reaches up, like a child, he reaches for those stars. Only to find, with great disappointment and heavy grief, that he is too short to reach the stars. To find that the stars, like so many other things to him, are just out of reach. He looks like he's in pain. The tears come, but they don't fall. They stay in his eyes and sparkle like crystals, giving a sullen beauty to this man.
Don't look, don't look.
This man.
Don't look, don't look.
This man.
Don't look, don't look.
This man, who lived, and loved, and died, and yet still lives. He shakes with grief at night, overcome by it. The waves of depression throw him to the ground. He reaches out. He's too small… she's too far away. "Shelly," He murmurs her name as if it will make a difference. As if saying her name will bring her back. Bring back the girl who set all things in his life right. The girl who made the world beautiful. His face turns the sky. He basks in the glow of the moon, setting his pale skin alight with beauty and grace. "Why?" He asks to God, the same way he always does. "Why create such a beautiful flower, just to step on her? Why did you give her to me if you only planned on taking her away?" He reaches to the sky, again. He reaches for the stars, like a child, he reaches for those stars, tall as he can be. And still, they are out of reach. But he continues reaching, his hands forming fists. And he shakes. He shakes now, hit with another wave. "Why!" His voice is booming now, he's angry, and miserable. "Oh, Shelly. Please, wait for me. I'm coming for you, baby. I'll be there soon." He whispers. "I'll be there, baby."
Don't look, don't look.
And there's a crow perched near by, each caw sounding as though it's whispering to Eric, this man. Whispering,
"Don't look, don't look."
But he does look. Again and again, forevermore. And when peace finally finds him, a broken shell of a man, a blasphemous symbol set apart from happiness and good, and yet still filled with helpful intent, he will look. How could he turn away?
Don't look, don't look.
"I'll be there."
Glitter, sparkling wonderment, he's not lying. He'll be there. He'll be with Shelly, in the end of it all. When the end comes, he'll be with Shelly, no matter what it takes.
Don't look, don't look.
Because you'll always find the one you love.
Don't look, don't look.
Always.
Don't look, don't look
Always.
Fin.