Heya. This is just somethingI came up with while sitting bored at my computer one day. It's basically how Elizabeth copes with the death of Will.
Please review; even if you didn't like it.
The world is such a cruel place. Why can't we say goodbye? Why can't we have one last hug, one last kiss, before the world snatches them away from us forever? Why can't we stop it from happening?
Elizabeth stood, the black veil covering her face blowing gently in the evening wind. The vicar stood at the end of the coffin, where a small crowd of people stood around, reading in a slow, monotone voice from a piece of paper clutched in his chubby hand. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. He threw a handful of dirt into the hole, and looked up, meeting her eyes. There was no sympathy in them, no kind warmth, just cold, dark empty eyes, which bore into her own.
The crowd began to disperse. No that there was much of a crowd. Mr Brown had dragged himself out of his bed and managed to squeeze into a dusty brown suit. Norrington and her father stood awkwardly together, both wishing they were somewhere else. A few of the townsfolk who knew Will were also there, bunched tightly together as if he was going to leap out of the coffin at any moment.
He wouldn't've wanted this Elizabeth thought, a tear sliding down her cheek. He wouldn't've wanted a handful of people pretending they're sorry.
Grief is such a terrible thing. Living each day with an ache inside you- so bad you want to die. But you can't. You just have to live on with the knowledge that they're never coming back. And living kills you.
Elizabeth lay on her side, clutching a pillow tightly to her stomach, in the bed she and Will once shared the warm, cosy nights together. Now each night stretched on for eternity, cold and dark, no one to hold her, no one to whisper teasingly in her ear.
An image of Will's smiling face floated through her mind. She reached out for it, trying to clear her vision of tears. Her fingers closed on air, and the image disappeared into the depths of her memory.
She tried to cling onto the memories, but it was like trying to hold onto water. Each image slipped away into darkness, one after the other.
Regret. It haunts you every time you try and sleep, every time you shut your eyes. Why couldn't we say sorry for shouting, for storming out, for hitting them, that we didn't mean it, that is was stupid, that we still love them? Why did we have to be so angry that we didn't care when they left for work the next morning?
She sat at the dining room table, a plate of smoked salmon and salad sat in front of her, but it was untouched. Her father was sitting opposite her, talking to her. The words washed over her and faded, all jumbled together.
She remembered the last time she ever saw Will.
She'd shouted at him. He'd come home drunk, and she'd flipped. It was her father's birthday and he was having a party. Will had stumbled through the doors, his shirt ripped and hanging loose, one shoe in his hand, and blood dripping from his lip.
Despite apologising profusely, and promising it would never happen again, Elizabeth hadn't listened. She'd screamed at him, telling him he had embarrassed and shamed her whole family.
She told him she wished she'd married Norrington instead of him. He'd looked so hurt at that. Betrayal screamed through his expression. He'd looked away and pushed past her.
She hadn't slept through the night, battling with herself to apologise. But her pride got the better of her.
She'd let him leave the next morning without saying sorry. He didn't come back.
She thought he was just mad at her.
But then Norrington had turned up, his face grave.
"I'm so sorry Elizabeth." He said. "There was a fight…he got in the way…he's dead."
Why did they have to die thinking we hated them?
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you.
She couldn't take it anymore; the awkward, half-hearted sympathetic looks thrown her way every time she left the house, every time a maid came in to make her bed, or serve her dinner.
She felt the heavy gun in her hands, testing its weight. Tears fell steadily down her blotched cheeks and she raised it to her eye level and stared intently at the cold, harsh metal of which it was made.
Her finger ran gently over the trigger, memories flashing through her mind; Will laughing, Will fighting for her release, the time he first kissed her, the gaze he sent her on their wedding night.
I should've told you everyday from the moment I met you; I love you.
She raised the gun to her temple.
Lay down
Your sweet and weary head
Night is falling
You have come to journey's end
Sleep now
And dream of the ones who came before
They are calling
From across the distant shore
Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
all of your fears will pass away,
safe in my arms
you're only sleeping.
What can you see
on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
a pale moon rises -
The ships have come to carry you home
All will turn
to silver glass
A light on the water
All souls pass
Hope fades
into the world of night
through shadows falling
out of memory and time
Don't say
We have come now to the end
White shores are calling
you and I will meet again.
And you'll be here in my arms
Just sleeping
What can you see
on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
a pale moon rises -
The ships have come to carry you home.
And all will turn
to silver glass
A light on the water
Grey ships pass
Into the west
(Annie Lennox)