Short Stories of Strangers

My little tributes to the less significant people of Final Fantasy VII

Story Two: For The Last Time

Here I am.

For the last time.

His eyes look into mine. I know he doesn't want me to go. He doesn't understand the pain, the rage. This storm in my heart. He can't feel what I can. I reach into my pocket – with my right hand, of course.

The cold silver, that was around her neck, brushes against my skin, and I throw it, away, separating it from me. He catches it, with his left hand, naturally. The pain builds and I struggle away. He cries out, begging me to stay. The bitterness is sour in my mouth. Can you feel it, my friend? This pain…

I stand here, and look down, into the wide, black chasm, stretching her gaping jagged, toothed mouth beneath me. It's so dark, just like my soul. A fitting place for the damned.

I turn to face him, to watch him shake and stutter. The rage, the hate, it rises like a monster in my heart. What are you, a coward? Were you ever my friend? You big baby, you worthless piece of filth?

I suddenly choke, pain strangling my lungs. He starts forward, his fist tightening around the silver pendant. I gasp out words to him, telling him to never, ever make her cry.

For the last time.

Then my arms rise above my head, and I let go. My body falls backwards, and I sink into the abyss. He howls my name, a wounded, inhuman wail that drives me down, away from the light. Then silence.

Eleanor.

Can you hear me, Eleanor?

I am coming.

The wind whips my face, as I fall down, down away from the light.

These pains, this hatred, make it go away, my love and my only.

I am falling.

I will accept death, I must accept death.

Why is death such a bad thing?

I wanted to free everyone from the stranglehold of life. Like Marlene.

She misses you. But not me.

My hands are stained with blood.

Life is such an evil thing.

Only death sets us free.

Why is there such sorrow in death?

Why should man lament the state he should envy?

I raise my arms above my head.

Death is coming to greet me.

I see him now.

Eleanor, your loving husband is coming.

The jagged bottom of the pit is rushing up towards me.

I close my eyes.

And breathe the burning, polluted air of this foul life.

This fallen angel is alive here and now...

...For the last time.

Quite a short one!

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Coming up next, Story Three: The Last stand.