Deafening Silence
Francis stood on the bank of the Seine River in France. He was perfectly silent and still, watching the ever flowing water run past him without a second thought about where it was going or why. He felt very alone in the world. The sound of the river and of a faraway place filled his ears and thoughts with memories; a continuous flow of the past drifting along in its own river like flow. He kept repeating the same scenes of life in an endless loop. The memories made clearer by the scorched and dinted cross that fit perfectly in his hands. Looking down at it a bright flash of smoke, fire, and ash passed behind his eyes, it felt so real to him again that he could almost smell it. He closed his eyes and let his tears spill over his cheeks.
The once beautiful collection of shared memories he had with one and only one person where now painfully crippling. A small sob escaped him as he remembered all too clearly her eyes. Eyes full of unwavering strength and determination, courage and a fearlessness that couldn't be rivaled, though this image was slightly marred by the sight of the pyre of smoke and flame that would forever be burned into his mind and soul. His heart gave a painful squeeze, making his chest feel so tight he almost couldn't breathe. Why did that have to be his last memory of her? Why did she have to die? She didn't have to... If only he'd been stronger… or loved her more... No, he couldn't love her anymore. She was all he loved, and it was his fault she was dead. He spoke so softly in a broken and defeated voice the language that was his and hers. A saint…and a terrible sinner.
He felt himself falling to pieces all over again. The crowd of screaming and cheering people surrounding the huge pyre in the town square. Their chanting 'Kill her!', 'Burn her!', 'Burn the heretic!' He held the cross close to his heart as a choked sob issued the release of a river of tears and hurt from the void left in his heart where she was ripped away from him. Again the crowd…Trying to push through the writhing mass of people to get to her. Being pulled back and told not to interfere. The almost calm and gentle look she had as she was burned away. The weight of the all overpowering sadness and guilt brought him to his knees. He was too late..She was already gone when he was able to push through the crowd. He lowered his tear streaked face to the ground, reaching out to the woman he knew wasn't there, for she was swept away by this very river.
All rational thought seemed to have fled from him leaving nothing but pain left, flooding him mixing with the very essence of life in his veins. It drug him down into a dark abyss of loss that he wouldn't come out of unscathed; if he came out at all. He blamed himself. All the 'ifs' he had through time and time again that resulted in her not being taken.
He was so lost in his mourning that he didn't see the blue skies above the shining bright world around him, but instead only the dark corridors of the silent fortress of guilt he'd unknowingly build around himself. He couldn't deny that he had loved her, whole heartedly, loved her more than he could take. If it hadn't been for the memory of the sacrifices she'd made for him it was doubtful he'd even be alive. He lived for her memory. Lived for the battles she'd fought and the courage she showed even when in the fearsome face of death and in the cold hands that burned hot at her end. The one thing he cherished more than any other was mark she'd left on this land. On him.
The hand he reached out touched nothing, but he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping beyond hope that if he reached out far enough, just a little farther… That there would be something… Anything to hold onto in the deafening silence…