Muerte

By QG

I claw at the earth, the dark, pungent-smelling soil clumping under my fingernails, my hands becoming coated in a layer of filth. I dig deeper, thrashing the ground apart, pulling up wet hunks of dirt and rocks. A sheen of sweat covers my skin, the droplets trickling down my unclothed body, cooling it as I work. The wound in my chest bleeds, a steady stream of red flowing down my stomach and dripping onto the ground. My hair is in complete disarray, matted and tangled, falling across my face in dirtied clumps of plum.

"My prince, it's almost ready for you," I murmur to the body next to me, my voice hushed as if in reverence. His ears, closed to all worlds but mine, know of what I speak. His mouth will not move in response, but I know what he says without him uttering a word to me. I would be a poor excuse for a bride if I could not read his thoughts, feelings.

The hole is deep enough. I lift my brother by the waist, grunting with effort at moving him, assuring him that I am doing what is right. I heave him into the pit with a gasp of relief, finally rid of his weight. His eyes stare vacantly up at me, blood covering his head from where it had hit the cement, his neck at an inhuman angle.

He is still my prince.

With a cry of anguish, I scoop handfuls of dirt onto him, much more ferociously than my digging had been. More and more earth is thrown on, covering his lifeless body- I shriek angrily as I cover up my sin. I can still hear it! His heartbeat won't stay out of my head!

Roses spring up, twisted vines of dark green, with thorns that cut my hands. Red buds burst forth from the green, my blood, my chains. It is covered. The deed is done. My chest hurts me more now, and I hug my cold, stiff body. I sob and sob, the roses before me, constraining me, their vines choking and cutting into my body.

In the distance, the bells begin to ring.