Gone
In memory of Ray Bradbury who passed from us this Wednesday. He will remain an inspiration for generations to come.
Rest In Peace.
I looked up, horrified by myself. I had just destroyed the one thing left that made this life bearable: my Claire. My sweet, innocent, vulnerable-oh so vulnerable-little Claire...was gone. By my hand. Oh, the foolish girl. She had trusted me, and I had betrayed her.
I struggle to remember what happened, but it is all, quite literally, a blur. We were experimenting with...something... I look to the lab table a few feet away. It is in pieces. Why is it in pieces? I must have been quite mad, had some sort of episode. And...and she had shown weakness, no doubt. But why? She was smarter than that, she had always managed to remain so calm in my...lesser moments of sanity...and then I remembered.
It was not an experiment. It was a lecture. A lecture on the downfall of alchemy...and Frank. Frank had said something to provoke me...but what? My unstable mind had clearly gone on a fit of rage. And perhaps it was too sudden, unexpected, and she showed her fear. It wouldn't take much. Just a split-second for fear to show in her eyes, her gasping breath, recoiling figure, and the predator inside would awaken. And I-no, the predator-would drain shining little Claire of the light that brightened my, and so many other's days. No, not mere days, but lives. I let out a heaving sob, crawling towards her lifeless shell. "Oh my Claire. Oh my dear Claire." I mutter, though it is most likely unintelligible through my sobs. This cannot be my fault. It absolutely cannot be. I cannot be the one to have taken the meaning of my own life away. I must pin the blame on someone else, I must...I must..."FRANK!" I bellow. Yes! It was his fault! It was he who uttered whatever phrase that triggered my rage. His two-dimensional image formed in front of me.
"You sick bastard," He practically spits. "How could you?" Is that...no. No, that cannot be sadness in this man's eyes. "She trusted you." He says before fading out again. And I realise that, without question, the blame is on me. I completely break down at such an epiphany. I allow my body to be racked by sobs as I cradle her head, all while rocking slowly back and forth. I do this for God knows how long until the chiming of her cell phone jerks my head up. I leave it be. It stops. It starts again. It does this several times. The boy will be coming soon, then. Searching for his loved one, only to find a corpse. I caress the small holes in her neck, wiping away the dried blood. A few minutes pass.
"And the fever called living," I hear a car pull up, footsteps approaching. "Is conquered at last." The boy-what was his name? Sean? Seamus? No. No it was something American...Shane? Yes, Shane. I remember it in a moment of sanity only this grief can bring on-bursts in. He is already livid, but there is no word to describe the anger and sadness in his eyes when his searching gaze found the two of us. It occurs to me that I am smiling like a maniac. I d not care. I am a maniac. Who else kills all who they love? I turn back to Claire. "And thus," I whisper. The boy raises the crossbow. "With a kiss," his finger tightens on the trigger, "I die." He lets a roar of anger as the bolt whizzes towards me. My lips just meet her forehead as the silver enters my heart, ending my life.
AN: I know, dark for my first, but I'm a dark person despite my outwardly sunny personality. Insanity does that sort of thing, I suppose.
Please review! I'd love to hear what everybody thinks, negative or positive.
Songs To Help Me Write:
Gone, by Ionna Gika.
The Flesh Failures by Gavin Creel and the cast of Hair.