Challenge #6 Response: Eric's Song
He drank, shot up, and burnt out. All to forget. He always wanted to forget. The desire had overcome him when alive, attributing to his death, but had consumed him as a reaper.
There were few times in his after life that he was sober for longer than a week. It was just too much. The souls he’d taken may have moved on to their own afterlife, but their deaths and images stayed with him, their blood a constant reminder of his violent and turbulent childhood.
He was surprised, ten years after her death, that she stayed with him. He didn’t change for her. This wasn’t some romance novel. He wasn’t the transformed rake, and she wasn’t the moral, beautiful force that changed him.
She simply accepted him for who he was and saw a reason to love him.
She understood the need to forget. She couldn’t. She was still too connected with the living to write off each death. She saw herself, her sister, her parents in the souls. She connected to each death. She was broken, like him, but hadn’t found a way to cope.
She was jealous of him.
He sometimes couldn’t remember her name. She’d curl up next to him, holding him like the lifeline she never had. He’d just be thankful someone was there.
When the drugs wore off, she’d imagine how long until he went back to him. She knew her love for him would never be enough, but it wasn’t the love that kept her near him. She was still trying to work out just what kept her with him. Perhaps it was because there were few like them around, and he was the one she found the most comfort in. Or maybe it was because when he was sober, even for a day, it was like he was a whole new person seeing her, loving her in return.
And she forgave him. For every indiscretion. He never found comfort in other women, and perhaps that was her lasting effect on him, but he would forget to tell her he cared. He tried to help pay for their life, only to spend the money on the drugs and booze. And he’d try to show her how much he cared, but the flowers would wilt and the affections flee before he could find her.
“Why me?”
A simple question, laced with fear and shame. She stared at him, stroking his hand and answering silently. Love.
“Until I’m forced to leave you, until Rube puts his foot down or transfers me or you reach your quota, I’m meant to be right here, with you. I love you. Maybe because of chemistry, or because you show the affection I need. But we both have our problems, and for that we forgive each other. And you’re grateful for me at those moments when you’re at your worst. You always move on, Mason. That’s why.”
He moved to shift her on his lap, stroking the side of her waist and staring up at her. “I love you, Georgia. Never leave me.”
She nodded, both knowing that no words were necessary.
There were few times in his after life that he was sober for longer than a week. It was just too much. The souls he’d taken may have moved on to their own afterlife, but their deaths and images stayed with him, their blood a constant reminder of his violent and turbulent childhood.
He was surprised, ten years after her death, that she stayed with him. He didn’t change for her. This wasn’t some romance novel. He wasn’t the transformed rake, and she wasn’t the moral, beautiful force that changed him.
She simply accepted him for who he was and saw a reason to love him.
She understood the need to forget. She couldn’t. She was still too connected with the living to write off each death. She saw herself, her sister, her parents in the souls. She connected to each death. She was broken, like him, but hadn’t found a way to cope.
She was jealous of him.
He sometimes couldn’t remember her name. She’d curl up next to him, holding him like the lifeline she never had. He’d just be thankful someone was there.
When the drugs wore off, she’d imagine how long until he went back to him. She knew her love for him would never be enough, but it wasn’t the love that kept her near him. She was still trying to work out just what kept her with him. Perhaps it was because there were few like them around, and he was the one she found the most comfort in. Or maybe it was because when he was sober, even for a day, it was like he was a whole new person seeing her, loving her in return.
And she forgave him. For every indiscretion. He never found comfort in other women, and perhaps that was her lasting effect on him, but he would forget to tell her he cared. He tried to help pay for their life, only to spend the money on the drugs and booze. And he’d try to show her how much he cared, but the flowers would wilt and the affections flee before he could find her.
“Why me?”
A simple question, laced with fear and shame. She stared at him, stroking his hand and answering silently. Love.
“Until I’m forced to leave you, until Rube puts his foot down or transfers me or you reach your quota, I’m meant to be right here, with you. I love you. Maybe because of chemistry, or because you show the affection I need. But we both have our problems, and for that we forgive each other. And you’re grateful for me at those moments when you’re at your worst. You always move on, Mason. That’s why.”
He moved to shift her on his lap, stroking the side of her waist and staring up at her. “I love you, Georgia. Never leave me.”
She nodded, both knowing that no words were necessary.