Box Full of Memories

Tears run from your cheeks as you wander your room, aimlessly. "It can't be true, It can't be true, It can't be-" you chant relentlessly. You wipe the tears from your eyes. The mascara and liner you put on earlier quickly smudges all over your hand.

Walking over to the mirror, you sit down on the cushioned stool. You grabbed makeup cleanser, for the third time. You dab a generous amount on a cotton pad and start removing your ruined makeup. You look in the mirror, the room is a complete mess. Boxes were everywhere, yet the only thing you felt was anguish. You continued to remove your makeup, your eyes were puffy and red. It hurt.

The phone rang, you grabbed it aggressively and smashed it against the wall. It made a dent as the phone was broken into pieces, the zap of wires the only sound in the room for a few seconds. You couldn't believe what you did, you didn't care. Sitting back down on your stool, you stared at yourself.

Your face was almost clean, your bangs were wet with sweat. You brushed out your hair and dried it. The only thing in the room was the feeling of deep anger, frustration, pain, sadness. You started to apply minimal makeup, resisting the urge to cry out.

Knock knock.

A banging on the door was heard, but you don't answer it. After a few minutes, the visitor left. You blamed yourself for being so stupid, furiously kicking away a broken box. You got up from the stool and looked at your clothing.

Clad in black, the colour of despondency.

You stare at yourself, you looked beautiful. You pulled up your hair up to put it into a tight bun. You sat down on your bed, looking at the large mirror at yourself. The curtains were closed, yet the unmistakable grey clouds loomed overhead.

Knock knock. Knock knock.

The visitor came back, you ignored the person still. A hard pounding on the door kept you on your guard. You looked at a photo of you and him. "He isn't gone, he's not," you say to yourself.

You couldn't put your hair right, so you left it down, Clipping on a jeweled hairpin he gave you, you looked at yourself once more. You took out your gemstone box, you never liked fancy adornments. "They got in the way of everything," you say, yet you took a necklace out anyways. A garnet, wrapped in white gold. You admit that it wasn't at all your taste, but it belonged to him. Choking down tears, you put it on, it dangled right at your collarbone.

You glance at a box, it was a simple chest with a lock. You walked towards it.

". . ."

You pick it up, it wasn't heavy, but there was a weight on it. You were used to it. You put the box down, your deep red hair falling onto your shoulders. It was long and draped over your back. In the box was a present you wanted to give to him.

He wasn't gone either.

By now it has been an hour. You're going to run late for your last glimpses of him. You stalled for too long, everybody will be waiting. You pick up a simple bracelet with a single charm on it. You put it on; he had given it to you.

You looked at a picture. You suddenly couldn't take it, tears almost spilled out. You grabbed and started to fold the picture, then tucked it away quickly into the box. You drank a nearby glass of stale water, then picked up the box and went out.

You went to the one who was knocking on your door. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but didn't. He escorted you into the carriage, his indigo hair trailing behind him. He looked hurt, like you, but held it in better.

The horse galloped, your escort urging the animals to hurry on. You knew it'd take a good three hours to get there. You know you're late, and your escort knows as well.

Nobody was out on this cloudy day, a blanket of humid cold made the hairs on your arm stand. It hurt. Your escort kept his watch on the road, the horses going faster with every crackle of the reins.

Your gloves did little to shield from the cold, the shivering wind rushing into your face. You regret that you didn't put your hair up, but that thought of distraction dissipated as thoughts of him filled your mind. You couldn't get over it. How pathetic, you bitterly think.

By now, an hour and a half has passed on your three-hour trip. The scenery was a murky, black and white city. A very light shower of rain gently sprayed the carriage, to you, it was like stinging oil draping the city. Soot-dissolved water splashed against the wheels of the carriage.

You stare at the dark city. Various lights were on, it was afternoon, yet it seemed like the dead of night. You sighed loudly. You caught the eye of your escort looking at you, longingly. He turned around, facing the road, you payed no mind to his occasional glimpses.

It's been two and a half hours. You wanted to fall asleep, you didn't. The pitter patter of the rain kept you awake, you held so tightly on the wooden box that you got a splinter. You picked it out, your black glove hid it well, though.

One hour left. One hour until you can give him a last final present.

You started to feel extremely anxious. The feeling of loneliness rebounding throughout your mind. You looked down at the box, memorizing every little cut, every little flaw. You started to remember the times you spent with him, the only thing on your mind was him.

". . . It's not about you, or me, but about us. We'll always be together, forever and always."

His words filled your mind. A single tear flowed down your cheek, the minimal makeup you had on didn't mess up, this time. You dabbed your face gently with a handkerchief. The splashing of the diluted water of the streets drew your attention to them. You mindlessly stared out the small window of the carriage.

As you were thinking silently, the carriage pulled to a harsh stop. You got up, clutching onto the box.

"Ready?"

He opened the door for you. You held onto his hand as you got out of the carriage, promptly letting go right after. He shielded you from the rain with an umbrella. You walk to the gravesite.

The others were already gathered there. They looked away, you knew that they didn't want to show their pathetic pity. They knew what had happened, murmurs among the crowd didn't penetrate into your pool of thought.

You hated pity.

You sat down in the front. The priest told his prayers. You payed no attention. You stared blankly at the coffin. You felt the glances of your peers digging into you. Their feelings of sadness pounded into your own. The rain, by now was pounding on the gazebo that everyone was under. The dark clouds amplifying the aura of anguish.

The priest looked at you, you could tell his tears were fake. That priest could care less, you think. You got up, you should say some words, but nothing comes out. All eyes were on you. You turned around and looked at his corpse. Cold, unfeeling, empty, devoid. Unable to contain it any longer, you collapsed into sobs.

You were suddenly picked up, choking on your tears. You felt weak. People whispered among the crowd, they decided that it'd be best for you to rest the funeral out. You tried to object, but they wouldn't let you. Kicking and thrashing, a knock on the head was enough to make you blank out.

Two days later, you visited the gravesite. You felt foolish for breaking down. His corpse was buried underneath you. The plate of stone: "Jin Kaien (18xx - 18xx ; Kind and Compassionate; Committed Lover and wonderful friend."

Tears leaked from your eyes as you dropped down to your knees on the wet grass.

You, and I; for both of us

The last "present" which will tie our love

I opened the box, revealed a gun

Aimed it at my neck,

[Boom]

I'm gone.

Dead as can be.