This is just a short piece I wrote for an assignment in Eng. class - a psychological narrative. My inspiration - Supernatural. of course. Character death!!! But, it is still sort of happy. There are no real spoilers for any season, and it was written prior to the season 2 finale! Hope you enjoy!!
DISCLAIMER: Everyday I check the mail to see if the boys are mine yet...sadly they still belong to Kripke and the CW!
It took just one word. It took one word to spread the malignant disease throughout the mind, throughout the soul, sending slicing agony throughout the very being of the man. With this one word, the spirit dissipated, swirling from the strong golden light it had once been, to simply a dark shadow of sorrow and despair.
The mocking group of well-wishers and preachers who knew nothing of this loss, whispered only half-hearted apologies before making their way back to their own lives, storing this day amongst many others, never to dwell on it again. The line of black demons, the parade of forged sympathy and counterfeit grief had made their dramatic exit, leaving their tears behind to move on with their existence.
This man stayed alone; he looked at the stone before him, the carved name, a name he had carved so long ago into his own heart with a vow; a vow to protect, to save, now broken.
As the skies opened up onto the field of shattered hopes and ruined dreams, the walls the man had so carefully, so diligently constructed, fell with the tiny droplets, masking his tears, veiling his battered soul, burying his heart along with his brother's. He stared onto the harsh surface, gazed at the words, the memories flooding to him, as they often do to those struck with such pain and loss.
The memories of the past, of the happiness they had once shared left him with a sharp bitterness. This remembrance, having once filled him with joy and freedom, now tore apart the remains of his essence leaving an abyss of desolation in its wake. One might comment, if he or she had gazed upon this man, that he had given up his strength and will, a phantom of fortitude left only to walk in silence and despondency. If one looked deeper, he or she might discover that his appearance of a specter was merely a visage to lock away the truth, the truth being that he was simply a hollow shell. He was no phantom, no specter, but an outline of a young man, a young man devoid of everything, a young man that no longer lives.
Just then, as he started to make his way back through labyrinth of grief, towards the vessel in which he would attempt to return to the semblance of daily living, a voice interrupted his solemnity, piercing through his misery as Cupid's arrow pierces the lonely heart. The familiarity of the tone and timbre of the spoken words caused the man to freeze in his steps, glancing behind him, scarce believing the sight before his eyes.
What stood before him was not his brother, he knew, but still he clung to the hope, as many often do, that this waking nightmare was just a nightmare, and that his brother was now intruding into this dream in an attempt to rouse him from his sleep, back to the world where his brother lived, and he himself was still in one piece, not the fragmented soul that he had become.
His brother spoke no more, just gazed upon him with an expression of understanding, an appeal for forgiveness. As the man recognized the plea, he almost laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it. What right did his brother have to ask him for pardon? He himself, the man who is guilty, the man who should have protected his brother's life at all costs? The man who failed, failed to save his brother, failed to shield him from Death's cold grasp?
With another look from the apparition, the man saw his feelings reflected in truth, yet refused to accept it. No, no he was not angry at his brother for dying, for going away. He certainly was not furious with his sibling for moving on to the warmth of Heaven and the arms of Angels, for leaving this world of contradictions and hypocrisy,…for leaving him. Yes, that was it, wasn't it? He was enraged that his brother would leave him. That he would abandon him in this existence, with nothing to hold on to but rapidly fading memories of happier days and an ever-beating heart that trapped him on this Earth.
Shocked the man fell to his knees before his brother, the cold, wet ground seeping into his bones as a choked sob escaped his lips. With a look of comprehension, the spirit knelt before him and offered a hand to him. The man grasped on to the flickering hand, steadily gazing into the eyes of his brother, fearful that, if he should blink, the angelic form would disappear, lost to him once again in a cruel twist of fate.
No such cruelty occurred, however, as the soft, warm touch of his brother replaced the frigid heartache of the Earth with the tender consolation of Heaven, filling him with its warmth and granting him the ability to accept.
As his brother removed his hand from his own, no longer did he feel the loss, the sharp biting pain that he had feared and spited. No, he felt acceptance. As his brother's ethereal light faded, disappearing before his eyes, he smiled, the one word that had sent him spiraling into despair now bearing new meaning for him, as the finality of Death, became the beginning of Life.