Beautiful In Death
"Sam." He breathes her name out and clings to it like it's a lifeline. "Sam."
He can't see in front of him or behind or below him. No matter which direction he turns his head, it is dark. That confuses him because his skin is warm, hot even, from what can only be sunlight pouring down upon him.
He puts his hands to his face and runs the pads of his fingers gently around the curves of his eyes. He feels…dirt, maybe. Dried blood is more likely.
He is beyond feeling pain.
"Sam!"
He calls her again, desperation clawing at his heart.
Nothing.
"Sam!"
Heavy silence.
He searches the ground beside him, palms down. Dirt. Rocks. Clumps of grass.
No. Clumps of hair.
"Sam!"
His hand ventures over soft skin. Cold skin. Even though he can't observe her with his eyes, he can picture her in his mind, as beautiful in death as she was in life.
What he doesn't see is that she is staring unseeingly back at him.
fin.
