Would it be wrong of me to think of death as not an end but a beginning?
A beginning of an adventure I would love to proceed down.
A path, entwined between patches of green and purple, flowers the curl up towards the goodness and swelter when you walk by.
Do you believe in Heaven?
Do you believe in God?
Do you believe in Hell?
My life was Hell.
Never dying is not what it seems, it's a curse, a curse that slivers around the soul like a snake covered in green which hissed and shrieks until you can bear it no longer.
So you understand that this. . . blackness was a reprieve from the cruel world.
Maybe The Lord had finally thought he'd punished me enough, and decide it was my time to die.
But of course, it was a cruel way, to be murdered by a lover.
Who?
Blackness.
No need for complex thoughts, the brain slowly stopping, the heart beat slowing, the air in the lungs receding.
I had felt this before.
This simplicity.
This joy.
Who enjoys dying?
No one normal.
I was never normal.
Who?
Why?
Does it matter?
Emptyness.
Feelings disappeared with one blow.
I had felt this before.
Murder.
Suicide.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Have I lost count?
When?
Something missing.
But the bliss.
Did it stay long?
Who knows?
I always woke.
Never remembered.
Always scared to die.
But dying. For me it was?
Contempt.
How fleeting a lifetime?
How impermanent is the one thing we hold so close to us, over our years?
The thing we see started, and ended, but yet we are still so attached.
Everything we see had the privilege of life, a blade of grass, a creature of our planet.
Why does it revolve around life?
Life, supposed to be happy?
Why?
Death: sadness, grief.
Why?
To me, who-
Who am I?
What did I live for?
Surely death is not just this?
Some one important.
Some one from the past.
Who was I?
What happened?
Pain.
It hurt to remember.
Searing needles going through blackness so I tumbled and turned in the cold tomb.
Contempt drifting.
Bliss fading.
Coldness.
Past.
Present.
Future.
Remember.
Why?
It hurts.
Dresses.
My first death.
My saviour.
Who?
Vampire.
Vampire.
What is that?
Why?
Town.
Trees.
Suicide.
Clouds.
Anger.
Scratches.
Wolves.
Why?
When?
Who?
How?
Who are these creatures?
Why burn so red?
Why haunt me?
Why bother me?
I hide.
Clouds rolling.
Leaves falling.
Poem?
Reality.
A voice.
I heard a voice.
To remember to smell, feel, touch, see, hear.
Mind, fingers, toes, thoughts.
Love, anger, fear, shame.
That somebody- no.
Two people.
Two people I love.
Cannot remember.
Its happened before.
When?
How?
Answer me!
Faith.
To have faith is to defy logic.
It takes faith to think positively.
It takes faith to believe that there is a loving someone who cares deeply about our pain.
To believe in life, the universe, or yourself after numerous failures is to have courage.
Faith is an act of courage.
It is choosing to get up in the morning and face our fears and believe that something will help us.
Faith is choosing to believe that even though we may have failed one hundred times before that we can succeed the next time.
I remember that.
And a name?
A name I say.
It hurts to think.
Did it hurt like this when I was. . .
Was I alive?
What is alive?
A name?
Pain?
I don't want the darkness anymore. . .
Alive.
I person, animal, plant that is living, not dead.
Am I dead?
Has my suffering stopped?
I was undead.
Immortal.
Wasn't I?
INVETTA.
My. . . Name?
Invetta.
Yes.
Berlioz.
First lover.
I remember.
Invetta, wake up.
Where is that coming from?
I have nothing here.
Darkness.
Cold.
Groggy.
Blinding light pierced through the darkness.
A low hum.
Blink.
Mind is blank.
Where am I?
White, white and more white.
Blink.
A man.
Buff, brown, handsome.
Leaning over me.
Hospital?
White.
Blink.
Sound?
None.
The giant in front of me opens and closes his mouth.
Blink.
What?
Work.
Now. Sound.
"Invetta?"
I cough.
Sit up.
My body doesn't co-operate.
"Relax. You've taken a beating."
Understatement.
Who are you, in my head?
I grit my teeth as pain shoots through my front and whimper.
Stitches?
What happened?
Down my front.
My bed?
I recognise my blankets.
"Who-" I croak, breaking off in a coughing fit.
"Shh."
Fingers touching arm.
Jump.
"Don't touch me." I croak, horsily.
The giant frowns.
"It's me? Embry."
Embry?
does that name sound familiar?
Yes.
"Embry?"
Who?
The giant- Embry- looks saddened.
"You don't remember."
Captain obvious.
I am Invetta.
But I remember nothin else except-
"Who is Berlioz?"
Eyes narrow.
"That's what we want to know."
Door opens.
Another giant come in.
"Amnesia."
What?
"What?"
"You don't remember anything."
Who is he?
I have a house.
My recognise my blankets.
But these guys?
"Get out." I whisper.
"What?" Giant asks.
"Get out."
Yelled.
Shuffling.
Gone.
What the hell is going on?
Confused.
Upset.
Berlioz.
I. Want. Berlioz.
My should I feel like I should never see him again?
He can't be that bad?
Berlioz.
It echoes.
Berlioz.
Berlioz.
Berlioz.
A feeling of recognition.
A response.
I need you.
I'm coming.
A reply.
Then.
Him.
Recognised his face.
Berlioz.
Sweetness whispered in my ear.
Inspecting scars.
Kisses.
Cheek.
Head.
Scars.
Knuckles.
Lips.
Pulling him to the bed.
Sleep.
Laying down.
Tired.
Black.