These characters are not mine yada yada yada
Traum
A rose falls to the ground. He watches it in slow motion, removed from his own body. As it strikes the ground the petals fall away. He reaches down, as he lifts them in his hands they turn to dust. Everything to dust. He lets the grains run through his fingers, watches them blow away in the breeze he did not feel develop. He looks up at the sky as a dark cloud moves in front of the sun. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her, he hears her voice, the breeze carries it to his ear I know you feel betrayed. His harsh reply comes back to haunt him, every harsh word spoken in that time digs into the pit of his stomach.
He begins to walk. The corridors do not seem to have an end or a beginning but he knows where he is and what is to come. He reaches the window. He can smell her scent, a smile creeps across his face, before the realization of where he is dawns on him, pushing it away. He knows this is where it happened, though he has never been told, that same pit inside of him feels it. I lied to you because I thought it was the right thing to do. I... I didn't know what would happen. I didn't know I was gonna fall in love with you. Lies, betrayal, danger, they were all his life, love had never had much place in it before her. Yet this is where his love died.
The walls of the school turn to dust. He stands in the street, there is no moon, an electricity is in the air. She walks ahead of him. Too far for him to catch up, for he cannot force his feet to run though all he wants is to catch up with her. She is always out of reach and all he can do is follow, as he always does, as he always will. I just wanna be right with you. I don't expect more. I just want so badly to make all this up to you. Time passes and he continues to walk. She begins to fade, he calls to her, begs her not to disappear for he knows what will follow, she cannot disappear. She is alive and she must stay alive because she does not deserve to die. She is like smoke now, a wisp blowing away in the wind and he stands outside of his apartment block.
She said you missed me, god he did, he missed her more than he could ever describe, more than he thought it was possible to miss anyone. He walked to his door, ran a hand down its cold wood. He shivered, the chill in the air pierced his shirt. All he did was miss her. The door falls open before him.
He steps not into his apartment, but the school computer lab. He watches the tableau play out before him. Rupert... Okay, I don't wanna say anything if I'm wrong, but I may have some news. Now, I need to finish up here. Could I see you later? He watched himself, clean his glasses, stutter Y-yes, yes. You could stop by my house. A tear ran down his cheek. The memory of the conversation was too much, to watch it unfold once more was unbearable. The joy he had felt when he spoke those words, when he realised they could move past the betrayal and the lies, that they could be together, only made the pain more pronounced, even harder to bare. Okay, he watches her smile at him for the last time. Good. His last word to her. There was so much more to say. If only he had been granted that one night. As he watches himself leave the room, it begins to fade to a smoky haze and he stands in his apartment.
It is all familiar, burned in his memory. Every rose he sees brings it back, he can no longer play the record without falling to the ground in despair, he no longer drinks the wine the monster left to taunt him. A note lies on the table. He does not want to pick it up for he knows already the single word written in an imitation of her flowing handwriting. Upstairs. The word commands him though he tries to fight as his feet begin to move him towards the stairs. Roses adorn each step, each step increasing the dread that builds inside him. He is nearly at the top, unbidden his hand reaches down and lifts a rose, bringing it to his face, as he inhales its sweet scent that means nothing but death to him now, it too turns to dust, falling lightly to the ground. He has reached the top now. He does not want to lift his head, to look at what is before him, but every night he feels this way and every night he lifts his head. She lies on the bed. Her cold, dead eyes stare at him, penetrating him. He hears a scream, realizing it is his own as the room around him fades into darkness.
Sunlight streams into the room. He moves on the sofa, he has not slept in the bed since that night. He walks slowly through to the bathroom, washes the sleep from his eyes. He climbs into the shower, trying to wash away the memory of the dream.
He dresses. There is less tweed now than there was then. More lines cross his face. There have been more deaths, more funerals. It has been 4 years. Every night the same dream has haunted his sleep. And every day the memory of her lies beneath everything he does. He carries on with life, routine, the fight, but he never forgets her face, the beauty of her last smile and the dead stare the last time he saw her face. Every night he relives it. Every day he thinks of her. Every fight he wonders if this time he will finally be allowed to join her again, to hold her in his arms and say to her everything he was never allowed the chance to say. To look into her eyes and be met with her life and soul rather than the cold dead stare he looks into every night as he sleeps.
He leaves his apartment, locking the door behind him, though there is nothing in the apartment dear to him anymore. He gets into his car and drives to work, to his life, though it is all for show now. His one hope is that he can return to her, that when this torment that has become his life ends, he can find his peace with her.