Fallen

Dawn was just about to break and the subdued rays of morning light were finally spreading across the sky. I was taking my time, strolling through the bustling scene of the early hours. The clamor hurt my ears. Angry shouts rang from the main street, while flirts could be heard in the alleys. I avoided the hubbub on my way. Just being in a foul place like this made me remember the life I'd led.

The place reminded me so much of Manhattan, which terrified me, because knowing that I may never get to forget that city terrifies me. That's why I try not to think about it. I tell myself, Don't think. Don't freaking think, because when you think you realize just how screwed up everything really is. You realize you don't know how you got where you are, you don't know where you're going and you don't know what to do anymore. You don't know why you were chosen to be the Prophecy kid or why you were the hero and not the next guy.

I sit, I tire, and I collapse. When I'm staring into the darkness, I find myself somehow entranced by it. Suddenly, I hear laughter. Fearless, mean, and yet kind. It calls to me. The days we spent together are long gone, drifting away like clouds in the breeze. Even though memories are often fleeting, all I need to do is close my eyes and your face appears, clear and forever young. Sun-kissed skin and lemon colored hair. Such unique eyes.

She was the only girl I didn't hate. But now I was—I left her. At first, I thought it was revenge. It had to be. Revenge against them for living better lives than me. It was revenge against my own cruel fate.

I wish I hadn't died yet. There's so much I want to say to you. I have to get home. I promised. I promised. . . I'd come home safe to see your smiling face. But now that might never be possible.

So at least, could I get one more shot? One more chance to make amends? One more chance to see you so I can say I'm sorry? Sorry for committing so many sins that I'll never reach the place you will. . . For not being able to keep my promise.

You know, there's a chance you might not meet anyone else. . . That you won't ever see another living human ever again. That this planet will become a world of ruins and wandering spirits. We will come back to avenge what we have lost. Those stolen memories and lives.

But once you've reached the end, it doesn't matter which route you took.


It had been about a month since he had died, and she'd moved through her weepy stage to just kind of sad all the time, with the occasional moments when I actually heard her laugh out loud, then stop, as if she'd forgotten she wasn't supposed to be happy.

He'd lived long enough to know that everyone handled grief in different ways, and little by little, we all seemed to accept our new lives without him. All except her.

For someone who was never meant for this world, I must confess I'm suddenly having a hard time accepting that he's left it. Of course, they say every atom in our bodies was once part of a star. Maybe he's not leaving. . . Maybe he's going home.

But I can't help but feel anger towards the fallen hero, because you don't get to do that; come into somebody's life, let them care, and then check out. It's unfair to us all. I often see her sitting there, on the little strand of beach, just staring out into the sea like she's waiting for him. Campers have given up trying to get her to come home.

I've tried several ways to get her to cope with this loss. I even tried telling her the tale of The Dancing Man. The story began with a man dancing on the hill. Men and women all around him began to laugh. They didn't know what he was doing. They thought it was ridiculous. But then another man joined him. And then another. And then one more. Soon half of the picnickers sitting atop the hill were smiling and laughing and having a wonderful time. Eventually though, the dancing man crested the hill, walking into the sunset. He took a look back to where he had come and what he saw was good. People were still dancing, having fun, they were all on their feet now, their troubles forgotten. He shouldered his back pack and turned his face into the setting sun, a smile cracked across his face and he nodded to himself, with a flourish he turned again to the crowd, they cheered at him, "My work here is done" he said, and set off to dance across the world.

I told her this because it reminded me of him. His personality and who he is. The dancing man and the hero can relate; they see to it that everyone is satisfied before them. And I told her that for him to be happy and accept where he is now, she must be happy first. But this story only made the girl with sun-kissed skin and lemon colored hair with unique eyes sob.

She's as dead as he.


Remorse

Day after day, face upon nameless face on city sidewalks sick with a thousand dreams praying for asphalt waves of brackish blue-grey joy to wash us anywhere from here, I sit in the tiny apartment and stare at the girl staring back at me in the glass. Her belly is bulging, obvious that whoever may be inside is ready to come out. And I have never been so scared in my life. We don't know what this little being will be yet. We wanted it to be a surprise. We were both so happy when we found out, but I guess I didn't make it as blatantly obvious about just how terrified I was—am.

I have no idea how to be a parent. Sometimes I wonder if this was even the right time. We're still young; twenty-three. I'm scared of not being able to raise it, or if I can, how it will turn out to be when it's older. Sometimes I lay awake at night and ask, Where have I gone wrong? Then a voice says back to me, This is going to take more than one night. And I feel so guilty, because what if the stress of it all just eats me away and I just give up? I'm still in this long and confusing process of figuring out who I am and I want to do in my life. I may not get to do much, considering who and what I am.

And so I'll tell the creature this: There may come a day when you'll curse being born into this world. You'll wonder what you did to deserve this. And you'll probably have plenty of bitter words to tell me. But. . . But I don't think I'll be around by then to listen to your complaints. I live a dangerous life.

I truly am sorry. But I want you to know this: No matter what, all we wanted was for you to be happy.


So, I'm trying not to make this as desperate as I really am, but I really kind of need reviews on what you guys want to read because I don't know what to write. I need you guys!