I went to bed alone; that much I know for certain, despite the bottles emptied, the junk injected, the glass smoked, locked within my apartment for days, abhorring the light, avoiding the sun, embracing the permanent midnight fighting with the page during the waking hours, battling with the numbness of the soul, the desolation.
I woke up next to her; the cold, pale corpse of my childhood’s love.
In the substance-induced dreams I was back at junior high, when my heart was still unbruised, my liver virgin. With the whole world ahead of me, all roads wide open, all I had to do was pick the path and follow it to the end. It’s too late now, yet in my sleep I smiled broadly, for I recalled how it feels to be outside the pit of shit. And there she was, too, smiling at the beach, when the question was popped and the first dagger was driven through a heart that was destined to be broken into millions of pieces oh so many times. Yet, I didn’t know at the time and even the pain of love felt real and delightful, for it ignited a fire in the soul; a fire that was never meant to be extinguished.
And as I slowly opened my exhausted eyes, I stared at the decomposing body lying next to me; my arm around her waist, my body pressing up against hers, and I wanted to move, to jump, to disappear, but I couldn’t; chained to the bed, the substances still in control and all my muscles too heavy to obey the desperate commands of my panicking mind.
Suddenly she moved, turned to look at me, and the cold, dark eyes pierced through mine, staring straight into my soul. I couldn’t move, yet I saw a future that never unfolded taking place inside my head; a future that didn’t involve countless empty bottles of bourbon, cooking crack-cocaine, smoking meth, shooting junk. In the cold, dead eyes I witnessed warmth, safety, sanity. I smiled, despite the fear that overwhelmed my barely beating heart, and I wished to close my eyes and disappear into the fictional future reflecting in those dark eyes I hadn’t had the chance to stare into because of wrong decisions.
Her mouth opened slightly, exposing the falling teeth, the rotting gums, the green tongue. An invitation for a kiss and I was still not ready to kiss the devil, even though I had sold my soul years ago. Her hand reached for my cheek and the blood froze in my veins, a chill traversed all of my bones. Numb, I wished to jump out the window and disappear into the night, but couldn’t move.
She pressed her body closer to mine, and once more I could see a future in another city, with brighter prospects. I also saw the mediocrity of that future, the lack of the one thing that has maintained my sanity throughout years of abuses. And I couldn’t decide, couldn’t pick the right choice. It didn’t matter, either, because she was right there, next to me, rotting away with every passing minute and all I could do was accept her touches, her embrace, her forceful kisses.
With no end in sight my mind was too exhausted after a week of sleeplessness and of abusing every drug known to man. She smiled and despite the rotting teeth and gums I saw the hidden beauty, a beauty which I lost due to wine decisions, and a single tear rolled down my eye.
Abruptly, her face was replaced, and others took her place in my bed; I was surrounded by corpses and ghosts and I couldn’t run away. Standing accused in front of those I hurt, and those I lost, I could only accept the jury’s verdict and I was condemned to a slow, painful death and I smiled at the idea of the grave.
The ghosts evaporated, the sentence had been dealt, and the jury was therefore disbanded. Yet, she remained, her empty eyes still reminding me of a life never lived, of moments never experienced; was it for the best? I asked myself, and there was no place where I could find an answer.
From within the darkness the eternal flames appeared a preview of what’s to come and I smiled, barely, at the future waiting around the corner. A final kiss from the frozen lips and warmth flooded my numb body; it lasted only a second. She was suddenly gone, I was still there, and the flames were extinguished. With nowhere to run, with no dreams in which I could find refuge, I got up.
I sat heavily on the couch, stared about the dark room and breathed in the perfect stillness of the night. All alone, once more, and my sole companion were my memories, those of the past lived and those of the future that remained a stillborn.
And as I filled my glass pipe, getting ready for yet another week of staying awake amidst the binges, I heard a loud, complaining sigh from my bed and the blanket was raised.
There’s nothing extraordinary about hearing the toilet flushing in the middle of the night; unless, of course, if you live alone.
At 3 am, the flushing startled me. It had been a long time since anyone had slept over at my place. I was trying to sleep off three bottles of wine. My head was heavy and my body numb. I didn’t jump off the sofa, as perhaps I should have, instead I raised my head from the soft pillow and peered into the darkness.
The darkness looked back. I saw the familiar ghosts that have been surrounding me for years and the known whispers still lingered in the air. There was, at the same time, something new, a fresh breeze of evil that froze everything in the room. If I could have, I would have run, but in my hazy state all I could do was observe. The bathroom door creaked as it opened and closed. I saw the shadow standing in the kitchen.
I was still trying to figure out whether I was dreaming, while still staring befuddled at the shadow lighting a cigarette in the kitchen; the blue smoke arose quickly and evaporated. There was no other sound but of the crackling of the burning cigarette while the clouds did not allow the pale light of the moon to illuminate the room.
The shadow seemed all too familiar. I froze, lying face down on the couch, glaring intensely at it from underneath the blanket. The shadow began talking, but despite the perfect stillness I could not hear its voice. Alas, I recognized the words used, as they were the same words I often uttered while standing at the kitchen having a quick smoke: “just one more sip, just one more drag, and I’m coming to bed”.
A pile of dirty clothes hid the bed, not having being used in months; not since the final whispering ghost exited my life for good. Still on the couch, safe underneath the heavy covers, I heard the words of the shadow echoing in my head, even though no sound reached my ears.
The empty bottles laid on the floor, amidst the layers of dust, stale tobacco, and wasted blow, and yet, there was nothing I could do. The faintest light penetrating the loosely sitting blinds on the window reflected on the glass and hit my eyes, bringing forth memories of better times; of nights, where my bed was occupied and I drank and smoked my life away in the kitchen, wishing to be alone.
Suddenly, I was all alone, with no one to call and ask how I am doing, and I wished for the past to become the present and for the future to be different than the blanket made of snow that was waiting for me in the corner. The shadow in the kitchen put out the cigarette in an ashtray that shouldn’t be on the counter and walked in the main room with confident steps.
I still could not discern its features; I could not tell the identity of the night intruder. I couldn’t move, I was numb, both from the drink and the fear, and the shadow idly sat at my desk chair, its fingers hovering over the keyboard. A shiver ran through my spine, I wanted to react but was helpless.
I heard the keys being pressed rhythmically creating music I had long forgotten, and my heart sank. The shadow had taken my place, while I was still suffering from a headache that could kill even the most savage dinosaur. More voices echoed in my head, words long ago uttered by lips, memories erased by drink.
It all came back, as the shadow typed purposelessly, the keyboard suffering under the brutal writing and smoke began filling the small room. There was no oxygen and I was suffocating slowly, while the shadow seemed unfazed by the ever-changing environment. I sat up, finally, ignoring the tremendously violent jolts of pain that shot through my body. My head on the verge of exploding, barely able to hold my eyes open, I looked around and I was all alone. The smoke had evaporated, the shadow vanished.
Only the bottles on the floor indicated the reality of the situation, and I looked about in complete bewilderment. Once more alone, the voices in my head had ceased and the perfect quietness of the night was reigning. It didn’t feel good, even the shadow was a pleasant change of rhythm and I laid back on the soft pillow, as I observed the room spin around me while fighting my urge to vomit.
I was determined to start afresh; quit the bad habits and become a new person. I sat up, struggling to ignore the horrific pain that arose in every inch of my suffering body, and filled my glass pipe with some freshly-cooked ice. It was time to stay awake, fight for the dreams I had betrayed.
The first cloud of blue smoke arose in front of me and I saw thousands of faces arising from within it; faces long forgotten, eyes once adored, lips once tasted.
Another puff was dragged and the crackling of the pipe was the only sound that violated the peace of the night, overshadowed abruptly by the flushing of the toilet.
The darkness of the night had engulfed the room; the only light the edge of the lit cigarette, hanging from her lips. The night sky in front of her eyes, the full moon illuminating the calm ocean underneath. Her sighs were deep and silent, her mind occupied with thoughts of him. Suddenly a sound.
What the… what was that? No, it can’t… there’s no… I’m all alone in here. No, there’s… it did came from the closet. But… a moan from inside the closet? But… but I’m all alone in here! There’s no one in the house BUT me!
Fear overcame her, as the sigh was repeated. Her glare was fixated on the still close closet; she wished to open it,“Distance” Photo by Phil Slattery circa 1993-1996
to confirm its emptiness. Yet, she was afraid. Scared of what may hide in there. I’m going insane! There’s… there’s no one in there. All I got to do is… just open the damn door, Jill. Just… I can’t do it! What if… something is, in fact, hiding in there? What if… NO! I’m… It’s nothing! I have to…She got up; with small, uncertain steps she approached the now silent closet. Her heartbeat elevated, her heart pounding hard up against her ribs. Her breathing heavy; sweat ran down her eyes. The lit cigarette still hanging from her lips. A voice came from within the closet. No, no. It can’t… I just… Damn it Jill, get it together! I’m hallucinating, I’m… I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me! All I need to do is to open the closet, and… then what? She stared at the closet; observing it in fright. She knew it all too well, all her clothes were in there. She opened it just a couple of hours ago, to retrieve a clean pair of underwear. Then, there was no one in it. But now… she gulped, her gaze fixated on the closet.
“Jill, it’s me…” An eerie voice reached her ears, coming from within the closet; yet, seemingly from far away as well.
No, no, it can’t… there’s no way it’s… how could it be?! I can’t… Damn it, I have to stop drinking, I have to… No, it’s been three years since he… three damn years since… It can’t be him, it simply can’t….
“‘Tis me, my long lost love.” The voice repeated, distantly, and yet affectionately .
She jumped backwards, in bewilderment. “John…” She whispered, in sheer disbelief. She stared at the closet, eager to open it, yet terrified. For she didn’t know what to expect, what she’d find.
I’ll find nothing! Nothing but my own clothes and underwear. I’m going crazy, that’s it. I’ve been alone for far too long. Nothing less, nothing more. I’m sitting here, sobbing still for John, and… and suddenly I hear his voice. There’s nothing supernatural… No Jill, there’s nothing but your own mind playing games with you.
“Baby, please open the…” The voice started, then stopped. Another loud sigh came from within the closet, shattering, albeit slightly, the wooden doors.
No, no, no! I can’t accept that… there’s no way in Hell that this is…
“John?” She repeated ,her glance unable to move away from the closed closet. “Yes, ’tis me, honey. ‘Tis…” The voice paused ,and drew a deep breath .”I don’t have time, I… I need you to save me!”
I must stop drinking. I must… whiskey and vodka don’t go together. I’m hallucinating, I’m hearing voices. Damn it John, why did you have to… why did you have to die on me, damn it? And now… now I’m tormented by these… these hallucinations, or whatever they are… Why did you do this to me?
“I’m really here, my dear Jill.” The voice continued. “You have to open the door, release me from my… prison.” She gasped, her mind adamantly refusing to accept the situation; dead certain she was barely hallucinating, perhaps just dreaming.
That’s it! I’ll just pinch my arm and then… Ouch! Nope, still here, still… nothing’s changed. I’m not dreaming. Alright, then I’m barely hallucinating; I’ll just go to the couch, lay down, and…
“NO!” The voice yelled, causing the heavy closet to tremble, a horrible sound amidst the still of the night. She glared, scared and astonished, at the closet. She ran her fingers through her hair, then wiped the sweat off her forehead.
Can it really be? Can it… is this really John? My John? Can it really be, that… NO, no, it can’t be. It’s all my mind, playing dirty tricks on me. Just when I was about to forget… well, not forget but… get over the… overcome… who am I kidding? I never could forget him, never could move on… I could…
“You should.” The voice startled her once again. “You must move on, my dearest. Yet… first you must help me. Open the closet, and… and release me!” It demanded. She took a hesitant step towards the closet, suddenly overwhelmed by feelings previously unknown to her. She wanted to see for herself, she wanted to prove to her own mind she was merely imagining the entire thing.
I’ll just open the damn closet; see my clothes stare, blankly, back at me… then I’ll go lay down. Get some fucking sleep. I need it, apparently, more than anything else in the… why is there light coming out of the… what the Hell is going on? She froze still, staring, perplexed, at the bright red light, emerging from the small opening between the closet’s two doors. She licked her upper lip, her heart beating violently fast within her chest. She drew a deep breath, unwilling to accept the sight of the horrific light. No, it’s… just a part of the dream, or whatever this is. I… there’s nothing in my closet, but my damn clothes. The light, the voice… all this; they are not real. They ‘re nothing but ideas; nothing but my damn imagination. There’s nothing else… I can still open the closet, nothing will come out of it, nor will I see John. More certain, she moved closer to the closet, standing almost in front of it. She reached, hesitantly, for the handle. After a mere instant, she retracted her hand, with a painful scream.
What the…? The damn thing is HOT! It’s… it’s fucking burning. What’s going on? How’s it even… okay with the voices, even with the light… these I can imagine. But… but this? No, this is something more, something…
” Don’t be afraid.” The voice then reassured her. “Nothing can hurt you. You’re not…” The voice paused, and Jill heard its deep groan. “What is going on?” She demanded, still rubbing her aching hand on her blouse. “Nothing you can understand.” The voice coldly replied, then turned softer. “Yet, I have to plea with you, again; open the door, free me! Free the love of your life, I beg you, with… with all I have left!”
No, no, it’s insane. This whole damn thing is… I don’t know what to even make out of it… I… What the hell am I supposed to do, damn it? How can I… Get it together, girl! There’s nothing wrong with opening your closet. Just prove to yourself you’re insane, and… and then try to sleep it off! That’s it, reach for the damn handle, the heat is not real; it’s all in your mind. She bit her lips as her palm burned, and pulled the closet open. Instantly she backed away, stumbled and fell flat on the floor; incapable, at the same time, to avert her gaze from the closet’s inside. What the fuck is this? How’s that… Where are my clothes? What happened to my… no, it’s not… nothing’s real. Just a very vivid hallucination; or an incredibly lucid dream, from which I refuse to wake up. There’s no other explanation, nothing else can possibly..
**********.
“‘Tis all real,” the voice said, more clearly now, “what you see, is Hell, Jill. Hell.”
NO! It can’t be! First of all… John in Hell? That’s… that’s insane. Secondly, even if… which I refuse to accept, but even if… how can it… how did it come inside my closet? How…
“No time for explanations!” The voice hastily added. “You have to… you need to…” The voice paused.
“No, I refuse to…” She complained loudly. “There’s… it’s not there! All this, is nothing but…”
“It’s all real, Jill.” The voice replied .”You have to… you need to save me! I’m trapped in…”
No, no. There’s no way this is real. I’ll just close my eyes, count to ten, and… and then I’ll wake up! I’ll find myself on my bed, or on the floor. I’ll have the worst hangover ever, I’ll go through seven stages of shit, but… But the closet will be closed, and my clothes will be the only thing in it! Yes, I’ll… She closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath. “STOP!” The voice demanded. “Jill, listen to me… I don’t have time… I can’t explain everything but…” The voice paused; Jill was staring into the awful scenery. A tall mountain was expanding in front of her eyes. She could see it in its entirety, despite its massiveness. She also noticed several village-esque places , scattered all about the mountain. In fear she glanced at the three headed figure sitting atop the mountain; an insanely tall, hugely built monster, munching on some unfortunate bodies, she couldn’t recognize. Near the mountain’s base some red-colored lakes laid, where a vast number of bodies were swimming, struggling to remain on the surface. Around the lakes walked demon-like creatures, with long tails and pointy nails, laughing and mocking the swimmers.
And then she saw him, John. Somewhere along the middle of the mountain. Standing on a small platform; huge, threatening snakes crawling around the platform. John was staring back at her, his eyes filled with both horror and hope. Her heart skipped a beat when she first noted him. She nearly fainted when one of the snakes jumped, extremely elegantly for a creature this size; yet it didn’t reach the top of the narrow platform, missing it for mere centimeters.
Oh my God, what is this? Can it be real? Is it even possible that I’m looking at… NO, it’s… I’m merely hallucinating. John is not in Hell, and I’m most certainly not staring into Hell, like a modern day Dante! It’s simply… I’m too drunk and tired, that’s all! It’s nothing but…
“Jill, please help me!” The voice erupted. “I shouldn’t be here, I… I don’t deserve this punishment, I…”
She merely glared, unable to move. She examined the vast mountain, and noticed even more places of torture, pain and despair. She saw legs coming out of the ground, devils poking them with large forks. She heard the moans of the buried heads; the foul smell of the ground they were buried in reached her nostrils, causing her a sudden urge to vomit.
“Stop focusing on them!” The voice pleaded. “I am the one who can be saved .I’m… I was your husband, I… I still love you. You still love me! You’ve got to help me!” The voice broke down in loud crying.
“What am I supposed to do?” She whispered, incapable of getting up from the floor; her breathing had become short and rapid, her eyesight blurry.
“Reach for me!” The voice explained, hurriedly. “Get me out of here! Only you can save me!”
No, it’s… It’s all in my mind. There’s no vision of Hell in my closet! There is no Hell, and even if there was… NO! This is all a dream, and nothing but a dream. A sick, vivid, dream.
“Please, my time’s running out!” The voice cried. “You must help me, you…” The voice was interrupted by a loud, sickening laughter.
Her skin cringed at the sound of it, and her heart stopped beating for a few seconds, as she noticed the changed expression on John’s face .
“Now it’s too late!” Another, very deep, voice announced. “Sinners are not meant to be saved; yet you were given the chance to do so! And you wasted it!” It laughed again, even louder and even more sinisterly; causing her a tremendous heartache.
What was that? How vivid is my imagination? How can it be… It’s… It can’t be real, can it?
In sheer despair she noticed the tears running freely on John’s face; suddenly, one of the snakes jumped again, and this time reached the platform. She was staring, in terror, at the large creature crawling around John, who was squirming in pure fear.
“No, please don’t!” She yelled. “I’ll do anything to…”
“Don’t say it!” John yelled back. “Don’t!”
“No, I can’t let you…” She tried to protest.
“Damn it, Jill!” John replied, angrily, whilst the snake slowly crawled around his legs. “Don’t you see it? You squandered your chance! Now… I will NOT let you sell your soul to Him too… I…” His voice was muffled, as another snake jumped on him, reaching his mouth with ease.
Oh my God! They’re choking him, they’re… please God, save him. I beg thee, do something! I must…
“It’s pointless to pray!” The deeper voice announced. “This is MY kingdom. He has no power in here. His is another realm. This is where the sinners pay for their crimes! He has no right to intervene. I gave you a chance to act, to save your friend. Yet…” The voice laughed .”Yet you did nothing! For you were too busy convincing yourself this was all but a dream. So…” The voice sighed. “So, take a last look of your friend, for the Gates of Hell are closed to you; for now!”
No, don’t… stop torturing him! He’s in pain; my God, what did I do? Was it really me, that… no, it can’t be, it…
She watched, involuntarily, John’s body being now covered by snakes, as four of the larger ones had found their way up on the platform, slowly squeezing the last traces of life out of him.
She sobbed loudly, as the vision of Hell vanished in an instant, and the closet door was shut violently from the inside.
It was raining, and it was night; I remember it perfectly, as if it was yesterday, although it was a long time ago. Or was it? I don’t know any longer. Time has stopped being important. I was sitting there in the mud, crying. No flowers, only a few trees, and it was gloomy. I had just buried her…for the third time. The sky mourned for her loss and for my soul. I wanted to open the grave, and bury myself next to her, but I couldn’t. Doing so would mean seeing her. I got up, wishing to run away.
#
How did I let it happen? I can’t even remember. It seems like yesterday I saw her for the very first time, but when time stops, everything is yesterday. There is no timeline. Her smile was so perfect, it warmed my heart. Just watching her smile, and I knew I would die a happy man. There was someone else enjoying her smile. I stayed, because we fell in love. When did it happen? Was it when we first kissed? Or was it before? She kissed me, because I was important. And then, something happened.
#
Her hand was raised from the ground. Again. She refused to stay down. Too much fight in her. I couldn’t move. The earth trembled–it always did. I saw her. She wasn’t smiling. She was furious. She stared at me, and despite the coldness of death, her dark eyes were still beautiful. She sat up, covered in wet dirt, rotting away. She got up, walked towards me. I was motionless, I couldn’t do it again. I was exhausted.
#
We said goodbye; I did nothing but cry and drink. For so long…yet it seems like a brief second. She returned to the life she knew, to what was familiar. And I cried. Then she returned. The gleam in her eyes. The promises in her kisses. I was alive. I was happy. I held her close in the nights. I offered her comfort. She warmed my heart. She made me smile. She left…again.
#
She was coming towards me. I raised the shovel. My tears mingled with the rain. I was covered in dirt. I hit her in the head. And she fell down. Stopped moving. She would get up again, I knew it. It wasn’t the first time. I dug the grave…a new one. She deserved a new place. Maybe there she’d finally rest. I started digging. The rain got worse. The wind was howling. I was all alone with her. It didn’t feel right.
#
She had regretted her decision; I wanted to rip my heart out and give it to her. It belonged to her, I had no use for my heart anymore. She didn’t want me in her life. There was living without her. I tried, but I couldn’t. The knife wasn’t so sharp, so I failed. She laughed at me. Was it then that it happened for the first time?
#
The grave was ready. I stood in the hole. Perhaps, I thought, I should lay myself down, and let her find me. She’d come and destroy me, just as I had destroyed her. I climbed out of the grave. I placed her carefully into the new resting place. I found a few flowers. She always loved flowers. I planted them above her. Maybe they’ll keep her company, I said to myself. I cried.
#
She didn’t laugh at me nor did she wish to say farewell. She wanted time to think. She thought it wrong, because she had left someone for me. And she couldn’t bear the guilt. I still wanted to give her my heart. I tried–no, I didn’t try to rip my heart out. I swallowed a lot of pills. Who saved me? I don’t remember who found me. I hate whoever he was, ’cause he didn’t let me die. If I had, she’d be alive.
#
I watched the flowers, they grew. With every visit, they’d get even bigger, even more beautiful. She didn’t get up again. Maybe, she needed a place to call home, and the flowers did the job. I returned every night; sometimes, I wished she’d get up, because I wanted to see her. She never did. I never saw her again. Only in dreams…and they would often turn into nightmares.
#
She came to see me. I was in a white room, and people in white robes were always talking to me. She cried, asked me why. I told her. She cried some more. I couldn’t cry, I had shed all the tears I had in me. She walked out when I asked her if she wanted my heart.
Common sense was telling me no, don’t go, but, I couldn’t resist the temptation. A damn Halloween party in the middle of a ferocious civil war sounded like an extremely bad idea, yet, some escape from the horrors was more than just needed. Warfare was raging on the streets, bodies were lying anywhere, yet, at the University campus it was peaceful; at least, for the time being.
Hence why they decided to throw the party; we didn’t even know if it, indeed, was Halloween, or if it was too early, or late. It was winter, it was snowing, and it was all that mattered. Besides, we didn’t really care about dressing up, we just needed a moment of normalcy, a way out of Hell.
Dressed like Jesus, I went. The alcohol was running plentifully- how it was acquired I never learned, although wild rumors were being thrown around- and we all drank, while remaining inside the small room, falsely believing in strength and safety in numbers. At first, the music was low, barely audible; we were terrified of being heard by the soldiers that sometimes patrolled the streets of the campus. However, as we all became more and more intoxicated- and blissfully oblivious to the gunshots that were disturbing the otherwise silent night- we turned the music higher. AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” was blasting loudly inside the room, and we all danced like everything had gotten back to normal.
I was dancing with a girl, a philosophy major, whose name I didn’t ask. When you know any day can be your last, you stop caring about etiquette and norms become nonsensical. Thus, the nameless woman and I kissed passionately on the dance floor, as our bodies moved rhythmically to the music, which was getting louder and louder. Equally louder became the gunshots and screams of anguish and despair, but none of us paid any attention to it.
Eventually, the girl and I walked outside, for some fresh air. We were both cheerfully dizzy, happily ignorant of the devastation all around us. The party’s goal was accomplished; for a few hours, we were living like normal citizens, there was no civil war, no unreasonable deaths, no meaningless suffering. We lit a joint- the girl and I- to take the edge off, to relax even further. Our minds were engulfed in a delightful mist, we were atop Cloud Number Nine, as we continued to kiss and share the strong blunt. Laughing, we wished upon a falling star for the end of the war, as soon as possible; yet, as I stared at the falling star, I noticed, horrified, its rapid approach. The hissing sound reached my ears and purely out of instinct I grabbed my companion’s hand and dragged her, violently and ignoring her cries, away.
Moments later, the missile found its target; the former cafeteria of the campus had turned into a pile of debris and a cold grave for dozens of nameless, unfortunate souls.
Forgive me for loving you, I didn’t mean to. It was your smile that made my heart skip a beat, and your eyes that made my back shiver. I held you in my arms, and you warmed my soul. I talked to you, and my mindset broadened. You entered my dreams, and freed me from the nightmares. Your touch made me smile, and your kiss froze time. You gave me hope, and I could give you nothing. I am sorry.Those were the words on the yellow note.
I observed the attached box curiously, it was small and plain. Suddenly, it trembled, once. I dropped it, I ran away. Blood dripped off of it. Now, it was constantly moving; beating. I approached it again, cowardly. I hadn’t heard from him in days; last time I saw him, I told him I couldn’t be with him. I still loved him, but I needed time to figure out myself. The box stood still. I took a few hesitant steps towards it. I had abandoned everything for him; then I abandoned him. The box trembled again, but only once. I opened it. I burst out in muffled tears. I was looking at his broken heart, and it was all my doing.
George Gad Economou, born in 1990 in Athens, Greece, is currently a Master’s student at Aarhus University, working on his thesis on social epistemology. His first novel, “The Elixir of Youth” was published in 2010 by Lefki Selida Publications, whilst his English short fiction has appeared in various horror magazines, such as Black Petals and Blood Moon Rising Magazine.
Phil Slattery, Writer, Publisher 