Farewell, Love

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
"My feet inch closer & closer to the line that I have grown so accustomed to. As I stare between that blurred barrier that separates good & evil, sanity & madness, right & wrong and the wooden planks & the ocean, an electrifying, sensation rushes up my spine. It is that feeling that, like you, I know that I am about to die."

Submitted: April 18, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 18, 2013

A A A

A A A


Emmeline,  

 

Shot myself through the roof of my mouth at 005 today.

Used the treasured, 10-year old, antique pistol that father tried to turn on me. As your eyes skim past each & every stain of ink that I have brutally blotted on this piece of paper, I can almost hear your laughs tinted with irony! Speaking of the devil, fortunately, my father was not present to relish in his victory of defeating me, but instead, I saw him, your father, dear fellow & I am so very touched that he cares so much! On the pier, looking out to the black-purpley sea, yesterday, at sunset. Sat there for a while, merely watching him before realising that he would not see me. Was overcome by a strange feeling of sorts after that. Cannot adequately label the bubbling that arose as simply ‘happy’ or ‘sad’. Perhaps, if the sun had not decided to disappear that moment as he took one step forwards; washing the sea from a soft pink aurora, to a deep orange hue, then, to black, he would have seen me, crouching amongst the shadows. Near that place, where I spend the majority of my last days crouching, as I have previously described to you, there are those thin, black vertical lines of iron. With my time here, have grown accustomed to the v. dim light that is emitted by these rods, however, still have no desire to go near them. Do not fathom why. The light, or lack thereof, despite not being useful enough to navigate around the small bumps & dents in the line of unevenly laid down wood (have  purple spots on my legs to remind me of that!), was enough for my eyes to distinguish a redness tainting his eyes & I think, even his nose. The sounds of the pitter-pattering of his black polished shoes hitting wood was also accompanied by Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony of sniffs. Knew you doubted him, Emmeline, but now, there is blatancy in the evidence I have gathered to prove that, unlike the devil of the father that I am unfortunately plagued with, yours, really does love you. Having said that, however, seeing as one of the local newspapers that is being secretly run here; titled ‘Pluralistic Society’ (????????????????? ???????? ) has been distributing stories questioning my sanity & the fact that the owner of the hotel in which I am currently residing thinks I may need glasses, I do suppose the whole shenanigan could have been nothing at all, but a mix between a hallucination & an optical illusion. It may be wisest to leave it at that. After hearing what I thought were his sniffs, I looked upwards to find myself entranced by the sliver of sliver that had just erupted from the black night sky. A jumbled patch of constellations, with a hint of purple, every now & again interrupting the gleam of the stars. Beautiful. In that fleeting moment, I had a slight sense of déjà vu. Memories of love-making, not the one between your father & I- that was only an act that I had partaken in to provoke you, but, the one between you & I, arose to the forefront of my mind. Rested on how we fell into beautifully symmetrical alignment as if it were yesterday. Music to my ears were the sounds of skin against skin, the thudding of our two hearts at a constant rate of 100 beats per minute. Sighed. It is in these few moments, however rare they may be now; when I am remembering you; remembering us, I feel happy. It is a release, almost, from the memories of the devil & the awful sensation of its fingers trailing along my skin.

Almost.

Swirling colours & bright glares of sorts began to flash rapidly above my head. Soul wandered to a place where it was pulverised into paper pulp like slush. Now, everything is silent; only the transition between the images of the blackened eyes of father & the immoral act fissures it.

The plummeting of foot onto wood jolts me out of my reverie. Realised, in this precise moment that your father and I’s paths would not cross again. A deep pang in my belly. As he stepped down of the elevated platform of the pier, he started to go east. Dared to keep my eyes on him until he became nothing but a small speck in the distance, before disappearing over the small hill in the land & like so many things in my life, far, far beyond of my sight. Perhaps, and only perhaps, if he had gone towards the north side, I may have called out his name & exchanged pleasantries. It is quite lonely out here, after all, might I add. Had nothing to do then, but to entertain myself with the possibilities of why he was here. Knew that it wasn’t for me, of course. Despite my happiness in trying to believe that there would be somebody, out there, looking for me, you are the only true confident in the location of my whereabouts & I am certain that you have not disclosed anything. Concluded that it was a v. unusual coincidence. One that made me smile.

If you did tell him my location, however, & I promise that I will not be mad, then, is it actually permitted for the dead to make their presence obvious to the healthy & living? Was it you, then, that dropped those three stones followed by three branches on my head? Tell me, is there actually a figure up there that has white, white & white cascading all over his body? Please be honest. Know you will instinctively reply ‘yes’, regardless. Actually, a better question, are you even dead? You’re not fooling me with your death & laughing at me as I mope, in carefully concealed places, are you?

Am painfully trailing off now. Hope that you can understand these frenzied thoughts I am converting into blackened ink at this time of dusk.

On another note; do hope that nobody will be too awfully saddened by the what they perceive as sudden disappearance of myself from the world. Know that, Robbie, the beloved ‘domestic’ has enough of a conscience to let the waterworks out. Doubt mother, nor father will feel the same way. Especially not with the revelation of my true identity- which, I hope can be fully confirmed by the press after my death.

Did not tell you any of this, I know, & for that, I am truly sorry. But, as you said on the eve of that fateful night, we shall have no more secrets, so this time, unlike moments of erstwhile; I shall become the bearer of truth.

Oh, love. Even the purest is tainted with a sense of lies & trickery & deceit.

Knew you suspected something, dear one, but, will write it down on this letter to authenticate those beliefs.

I, was the so-called ‘infiltrator’.

Do not have sufficient amounts of ink to properly express why I did such a thing & even if that were not the case, do believe I would not be able to refrain from distorting the image obtained after glancing into the frightening recesses of my mind. All that I am capable of saying is; with the increasingly pluralistic newspapers’ assistance, do hope that you will be able to piece together the pieces. The questions they will print regarding why the great Charles Satin’s daughter would be compelled to leak secrets of national security from her very father’s department & suicide, will not give you the reason alone; am sure that they are not in possession of that. Exist relatively certain, however, that, with my very descriptions of the devil & his immoral acts that I have enclosed within this letter- however cloaked in ambiguity they may be, you will be able to deduce the why behind my stealing of his notebook and subsequent hiding. 

Fathomed that, even before I took it out of his office that night, the notebook would be empty. What was almost a perpetual awareness of this fact, however, did nothing in the end when emptiness began hollowing out my body as my eyes fell on the words ‘Am not a daft fool, Annabelle’ to code. Clutched a pillow afterwards and the sockets of my eyes weep graciously. Still, to this day, almost a week later, I do not know why I let myself indulge. 

On the other hand, if I were to be more honest with myself, I do suppose, just the thought of righting such a sinful wrong even if it were all merely an illusion was solace, to me. Know that you are now, shaking your head from wherever you are, Emmeline at the mere thought of ‘revenge’ as righting a wrong, but, to me & my tattered state of mind, it is the only way it can be possibly perceived. Fooling myself into believing I would be exiting this world happy & content with the knowledge of end-goal completed, was enough. With every surge of electricity rushing through my veins at the mere thought of atoning the iniquitous, I will not lie; it was more than enough, to deny you your ultimate happiness. &, for that, I am sorry. 

I am truly sorry, Emmeline.

If I could rewind the time that is etched heavily into stone, & if I was fearless enough to tell you these wicked misdeeds, on both the devil’s and I’s parts, I know that, we would have been together, as you bounded a hand of mine onto the orange rusted rails. Hand in hand and your favourite- roses, in our hair, we would have looked, ceaselessly into one another’s eyes as the frail squeak of the rails crescendoed into a deafening roar. 

You waited for me & I failed you, Emmeline.

I know, that you waited so long, that the faint, distinguishing lines separating the days became blurred & dusk no more than the end of an endless cycle. That thought alone, of being the one to bring your dying & withering, albeit beautiful soul a flower, before, like every other flower you received, it was neglected, is plenty. It is compelling enough for me not to prolong this death of mine for any longer.

Knew that, I would not reach 18 & for once, am early.

Hope you are proud.

Can hear the blood in my veins pulsating now. With each dead minute, I feel unbound from the cruel ordeal of sufferings that father has unjustly forced upon me. Know that people will talk & say that this suicide is the last proof they need to confirm my insanity-like all those who suicide, but, believe that they are fools. Coward’s way of dealing with life, they say. Some take it even further & call it an assault on living- for various reasons. Whether it may be to impress one’s audience with one’s mentality, to vent anger, to evade the pointing fingers of blame, to place a sense of guilt on the ones who have unfairly wronged them, but, as usual, they could not be more wrong. In fact, I believe, what is so wrong, is to demand another to endure an existence that is utterly intolerable to save a few relatives, friends & family from opening the water-gates & letting a bit of water gush out, from their eyes. Besides, a true suicide, I think, should not be cried over & bereaved. Not only does it mark the end of a long series of sufferings, but, it is courage, that makes it a paced, disciplined certainty. 

And it is courage today, that will rebirth me.

Am reaching an impasse now. Do not know what else to write as my mind seems, in this moment, awfully blank, but I suppose I can leave you with a bit of closure, too.

The world, is not going to end.

Well, I do suppose, it is rather pointless to discuss the end of the world now.

Running my fingertips over the thousands of threads of this rope now. Luckily, did managed to heave enough rocks upwards, with an aim accurate enough aim to shatter all the lights that have been elevated by these black, iron rods that I shall miss so much. That old lady, whom I had jested to you about in my previous letter (to which, please, reply promptly!) just happened to be walking by with a stick of adhesive handy. Borrowed it & smiled at her white tufts of hair & wrinkle-plagued face, before forcing two pearl earrings (worth around $56) into her clutched hands. Her eyes proceeded to water & she blessed my soul before ambling off. Shall miss her too, along with these iron rods. Used the sticky substance to attach a piece of paper onto my outer garments. Believe that it will guarantee me solace as I exit from this world. Is not a truthful comment disclosing to the entire world, the exact turpitudes that father abused me with, but instead it is about; you, dear, Emmeline. Copied down the very words that you had written on that parchment the day when you announced your up-coming death with a bouquet of roses, that, still, leave a feeling of heaviness on my hands.

Despite leaving this world with your quote on my garments, do hope that nobody will say I killed myself for love. Not in the, what is known as the conventional sense anyways. Goodness, wouldn’t that turn me into some sort of lovelorn, man-loving fool?! Did appear infatuated with your father & despite partaking in the cardinal act, you & I both know why it may have appeared that way. Besides, Emmeline, I do think you know who the true love of my short life is.

15 minutes.

Have a compulsion now, to write down one more regret I have of my v. short life to ensure ultimate closure.

Alas, that I will not be able to see the details of father’s face contort as news of ‘infiltrator’ identity is all but completely acknowledged by the entire Soviet Union.

10 minutes.

Pushed that incessant desire towards the back of my mind. Completely forgot about it, as I felt the noose glide firmly around my neck.

5 minutes.

Feeling consternation, now, naturally, but the hope that clutches onto your words is even stronger.

No thoughts now. Only, I hope that once the world rotates once more, the daily wanderers of this world do not suffer a multitude of heart attacks after receiving this pleasant surprise. Left whomever may arrive here first my hand-sewn dresses of silk, jewels, money & a dozen crescent shaped pastries. Placed a letter beside the items, explaining to them to share.

3 minutes.

My feet inch closer & closer to the line that I have grown so accustomed to. As I stare between that blurred barrier that separates good & evil, sanity & madness, right & wrong and the wooden planks & the ocean, an electrifying, sensation rushes up my spine. It is that feeling that, like you, I know that I am about to die.

At this point, I am forced to leave you, yet again.

Like you said, my lover, Emmeline, with the death of me in this world, I can only hope that when the sun decides to envelop the stars, the earth & the chunks of metal floating in between, that our kindred souls will be rebirthed into another world. A better one.

And one, in which, I will still be entitled the privilege to love you.

Such beautiful certainties comfort me.

 

Fin.

 

-Annabelle. 

 

 


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