I wrote every single word on purpose and I hope you delve deeper as to the meaning after reading it. Kindly leave a review, if you will, as to how you interpret it :) Thank you for reading.
It would be a lie to say that we have not suffered. It would be a lie to say that we have not lost many battles. It would be a lie to say that we have not yearned for the taste of normalcy.
According to the military dictionary, to say that we "are going Winchester" usually means that we have expended all our ordnances expect for guns.
In simple civilian vernacular, we have lost all means of heavy artillery used to fend ourselves from those who are bent on destroying the tattered remains of the Winchester name.
Dean and I are alone now and slowly losing the war against evil.
We were at our last stronghold. We were at our Alamo.
And then Sam fell…
The sun shone on like diamonds as if nothing was amiss in this damned spit of land. It was mocking me and shining through the large gap in my body that had fallen into hell along with my brother. I used to cherish the sunlight. I would often just stand in its rays in an attempt to soak up the goodness and purity and innocence that I lacked since a young age.
Even the trees were dancing with the help of the cool breeze. The leaves, on the other hand, could sense the lack of one good man in the world. Its mournful symphony began. It churned though the calm, unadulterated sky then burst out into a pealing cacophony aided by the gusts of wind and the distanced thunder that flashed against the horizon.
Dean was sitting in the seat beside me, silently concentrating on the winding, untraveled road before us. He would always be beside me. That much I can never doubt because he was always there. But now, I have never felt so much loneliness until this moment.
It was that loneliness that drove me off the edge of human sanity. It was that lack of meaning…the lack of objective.
"Roll the windows up, Liv," Dean absently motioned to my opened with a nod of his head. "the storm looks bad and I don't want to get water on these seats."
I blanched. "Our brother just died and you're worried about these crappy seats?"
It came out too contemptuous and derisive. My heart was racing at hundreds of beats per minute. I was trying to hold myself together and suppress the rigid convulsing that tore through my sore muscles. I was trying to stay strong for the both of us.
I felt like I was submerged in a vat of water. I struggled to look up and around. It was the arms of Poseidon that carried me, and not the arms of my brother. The fractured sunlight still cut at my skin and pulled at every gnawing wound that dated back to my mother's death. That was when I laid my head against the sea bed, a thousand miles from the embrace of any deliverance.
The fat droplets of rain pounded against the Impala. It was like a torrent of bullets that were trying to rip through to the only family I had left at my side.
All the devotion that I had stored up for my flesh and blood was too much pressure for me to take. It was a heavy choice for me to make and broke against every inch of me.
Mom. Dad. Sam…
I had lost love, strength, and, now, free-will.
I was like an ice sculpture…transparent and tangible. Then the sun would come. Its rays would brush against my very being, weakening me and making me melt into a puddle of insubstantial mush.
Somewhere halfway, I flung open the door and rolled out into the warm asphalt. The Impala screeched to a stop. My hair was matted down by the rain and clung to my skin in strands as I sprinted to the steep valley that had a bed of mud down at the bottom.
At some point, I wanted to fly. I wanted to conquer the world and possess every material happiness that my vanity required and my conscience admonished.
Tumbling head over heels down into the knee-deep muck, I landed in the wet, clinging mire. The mud seeped through my clothing and settled in a thick pool at the height of my neck. It was then that I looked up to see Dean sprinted down to me, his arms pumping at his sides and his legs moving toward me at full-speed as if he was afraid that I would fall and sink into the abyss down to hell with Sam.
My brother landed in the dense sludge beside me, grabbing my filthy body and holding me against his chest.
"I can't live without him, Dean." The cataract of stinging tears surged from my eyes and tumbled onto his jacket.
Dean took my face between his grim sodden hands and looked down at me, "I can't live without you."
Just like that, I was a small child in need of comfort in midst of a violent storm. I hiccupped and clung to his clothes. "I'm scared. I don't want to lose you."
"Hey, look at me, Liv. Listen to me." He insisted, his voice calm and steady. But I knew him better than that. I knew that he was forcefully suppressing the accumulated dam of unshed tears. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. I swear that as long as I'm around you will never know the meaning of fear."
"Promise?" I whispered, rubbing the fusion of mud and rain water away from my face with the back of my hand.
"I promise," He said with a soft voice and placed his chin over my hair, holding me close.
I held onto my older brother for dear life, blinking rapidly to shed the heavy drops of rain from my eyelashes.
Sam was standing at the top of the hill. He stood still looking down at us with a strong gaze. He was so real. So alive.
And that made all the difference.
"Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die…"
-Lord Alfred Tennyson's The Charge of the Light Brigade