Love is measured with

by iheartponyo

My worst nightmare has come true. Clary is in a coma and I could have prevented it. The dark oblivion surrounds me. Now she has awaken and I feel like the gates of heaven has opened and all things good will happen. But she utters those feared words; 'Who's Jace'

1. Gone

'Noooo!' the noise scratched my throat as it rose from my lungs. My right arm is extended to full length as I try to desperately save her, almost falling off the cliff myself. All I can hear it white noise as Clary is gracefully floating in slow motion with her left hand extended to reach mine with a sea of silky red blowing around her head like a pillow. I would almost say she looked like an angel if it weren't for the sinister conclusion. I can't watch. I squeeze my eyes shut tight hoping that if I don't see it, it won't happen.

I feel a piece of my heart – a massive piece, so big that it hardly leaves any heart for me left – is wrenched out of my body. Without having to see, I know that she has fallen to the bottom.

I don't know if I can carry on living. Without Clary who am I? I don't know if I can carry on living in this world with eyes that will never get to see Clary again. I don't know if I can carry on living without being able to touch her, hold her or stroke her hair as she falls asleep beside me. Why don't I know? Well, I never have been in love before with someone else as I am with Clary. She is my first and will be my last love.

Multiple hands pull me away from the edge of the cliff; presumably they are afraid that I will fall too. But I don't care. The hands and voices try to soothe me but it doesn't work, only she will be able to do that know. My mind is like a washing machine, spinning and spinning, nothing to make sense of. I recognise some sounds like 'send someone to get Clary' and 'maybe she's alive'. They are so naive, of course she isn't alive. If she was, I would feel it, I would know it.

My hands shake and I feel dizzy. The only thing I can think to do is place my hands on the back of my neck, curl myself into a ball and scream. A mix of crying, wailing and screaming is being projected out of my mouth. I don't care who sees. All the time my eyes are still tightly glued together.

Then a familiar hand reaches for me, he lifts my head up with care and forces me to open my eyes. As my eyes adjust from the depths of black to sunshine outside I recognise who it is. Alec. He says something, his lips move and I feel vibrations. All the symptoms of speech. I stare blankly at him. He repeats it again and again; 'She's alive'. What?

'She's alive' he says again, softly with care, 'But she in a coma'.