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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

He can still hear the words as he faces the aftermath of that night

Submitted: August 17, 2018

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Submitted: August 17, 2018





He is surrounded but he is all alone.

He can hear everyone but cannot understand a single word

He feels trapped, as if he has been locked in a coffin, slowly dying, slowly losing his mind.

He looks around and sees all these familiar faces, but not the one that matters the most to him.

His hands clutch the top of his shirt, the place where her locket used to hang. The locket which gave him strength, the locket which gave him power. The locket which reminds him of her. It’s gone.

He wants to run, so he runs.

He runs into the embrace of cigarettes and isolation.

Perhaps they can help him understand the words that he heard the night before.

“Have a good life”, the last words uttered to him by the one who mattered the most to him in the world.

Her voice is in his head, slowly eating at his mind.

He wants to escape. He needs to escape. He can’t escape.

So he runs again, to the place that means the most to him

He goes and sits between the bookshelf’s, the place which has his fondest memories of her.

The place where they had their first carefree laugh, the place where he first lost himself in her eyes, the place where he first caressed her face, the place where he first realised his love for her.

He feels safe there.

He looks up and sees her ghost, looking at him, smiling, laughing.

He watches as her ghost comes and sits next to him. He watches as her ghost puts her head on his shoulder and takes his hand. He watches as her ghost slowly caresses his face. He looks down and sees the knife sticking out of his chest. He watches as she looks into his eyes, as he loses himself in them all over again.

He can’t breathe. He can’t move. He’s stuck. He needs to run again.

He watches as she changes. It was not her ghost after all. It was a demon. His past come back to haunt him.

He wants to scream for help but he can’t open his mouth. He wants to cry but his eyes have never been drier. He needs to escape. He needs to run.

So he does, but he is not alone. Someone is chasing after him.

He feels lost amongst the crowd.

As if he is just another lost soul walking in the field of asphodel, one amongst the lost souls.

He can’t make sense of anything. So he runs again. He runs back to the embrace of cigarettes, Whiskey and isolation.

One after the other the cigarettes burn away, taking a part of his soul with them. His life strips away with the smoke, ascending to the sky, never coming back.

He can still hear her voice in his head, calling out to him. He looks around but he can’t see her anywhere. She is gone. Forever.

His room becomes his sanctuary. He just sits staring into nothingness as the world around him crumbles into ash.

He is afraid to close his eyes, for he sees her face whenever he does. He is afraid.

His voice trembles as he says, ‘everything is fine’ trying to reassure himself.

‘She loves you, she will come back’ he thinks, as he clutches his phone till his knuckles turn white.

He thinks of the times he talked to her on it. How many times he saw her face on it. It’s all gone now. In a matter of seconds, he jolts back to reality. It’s over.

His demons come back, reminding him of the things he did wrong, reminding him of the words he heard.

He looks at the folder in his hands. The 12-page letter that he wrote for her rests neatly inside. The letter which contained his heart, his soul, his love for her. The letter that embodied him. The letter that he never got to give her.

In a fit of rage, he tears it apart. He shreds it to pieces.

He screams. A scream of pure, raw emotion. A scream of agony, of pain, of anger.

His voice dies down but his hands still tremble.

He opens his wallet and sees the picture. The picture she took and gave to him a day before her birthday. He screams again.

He is lost.

His heart starts beating at a million miles a minute. His breath becomes more laboured, he vomits, as his nightmare takes over him again.

He is back to that night. He sees her standing before him, saying, “have a good life”.

He wants to tell her to stop, to not do it but he can’t move. He is stuck.

He wants to ask her, “Where did I go wrong? Was I not trusting enough? Was I not understanding enough? Was your faith in me so little that you left? Was my embrace not enough to comfort you? Was my love not enough for you?”

She doesn’t answer. He realises she can’t hear him. He notices a hand on his mouth. His demon was not allowing him to speak. He was having fun watching him suffer.

A bolt of lightning comes crashing down, blasting him back to reality.

He smokes again. Trying to escape, but he can’t. They won’t let him.

He looks at them, his demons, as they smile at him, laughing at his torment and anguish.

How long has it been? 60 hours? More?

He needs to eat, to drink, but he can’t.

So he takes out the pills. He needs to sleep. To escape this nightmare.

He lies on his bed, and puts on his blanket. He closes his eyes as tears stream down his check and wets the pillow.

He falls, straight to the bottom of the black, never ending abyss.

He watches as his demons welcome him with open arms.

He still hopes, “she will come back”, “this nightmare will end tomorrow”

The Laughter increases, becoming louder and louder as they laugh at his hopes and dreams.

Yet he hopes. For hope is all he has.


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