Blackjack: Personal Effects
All he had left of her was the memory of her.
The week in the basement when they first met. Her puking, pissing, and crapping all over the bed, and all over him while she worked the physical addiction to the heroin out of her system.
The awkward weeks after, where they struggled with their feelings towards each other. The pain of knowing he loved her, and the pain of thinking her first change would come soon.
The day they first kissed.
The day they frist made love.
When they found out she wouldn't change.
The times she stood next to him, in battle and in his life.
The week in Florida.
Memories. Not her. Not her laughter, not her touch.
In his hands was a manilla envelope. The hospital staff gave it to him. Inside were more memories...
The $14.67 she was carrying. Some jewlery. A red bandana that he had given her.
The ring.
Three weeks before she died, in a woods in Louisville, Kentucky, he held her close, and gave her that ring, asking, officially, for her to marry him.
It was small, he didn't have much money, delicate, a silver ring with two small diamonds set next to each other.
He held the tiny metal band in the palm of his hand, and stared at it. The tears came, as they had many times during the past week. Blackjacks hand closed into a fist around the ring, and he reeled back his fist, ready to toss it in the river before him...
And he stopped.
Opening his hand, he looked at the ring once again. Her scent, her blood, it still clung to her engagement ring, just as he still clung to the memory of her...
Unlacing one of his boots, he removed the thin strip of leather, and tied it to the ring, and then tied it around his neck.
He dumped the rest of her items in the river, next to the spot where they panned to marry, and he watched it all float away...
The memory. The Ring.
And his love for her.
That was all he had left...
The week in the basement when they first met. Her puking, pissing, and crapping all over the bed, and all over him while she worked the physical addiction to the heroin out of her system.
The awkward weeks after, where they struggled with their feelings towards each other. The pain of knowing he loved her, and the pain of thinking her first change would come soon.
The day they first kissed.
The day they frist made love.
When they found out she wouldn't change.
The times she stood next to him, in battle and in his life.
The week in Florida.
Memories. Not her. Not her laughter, not her touch.
In his hands was a manilla envelope. The hospital staff gave it to him. Inside were more memories...
The $14.67 she was carrying. Some jewlery. A red bandana that he had given her.
The ring.
Three weeks before she died, in a woods in Louisville, Kentucky, he held her close, and gave her that ring, asking, officially, for her to marry him.
It was small, he didn't have much money, delicate, a silver ring with two small diamonds set next to each other.
He held the tiny metal band in the palm of his hand, and stared at it. The tears came, as they had many times during the past week. Blackjacks hand closed into a fist around the ring, and he reeled back his fist, ready to toss it in the river before him...
And he stopped.
Opening his hand, he looked at the ring once again. Her scent, her blood, it still clung to her engagement ring, just as he still clung to the memory of her...
Unlacing one of his boots, he removed the thin strip of leather, and tied it to the ring, and then tied it around his neck.
He dumped the rest of her items in the river, next to the spot where they panned to marry, and he watched it all float away...
The memory. The Ring.
And his love for her.
That was all he had left...