[Drabble]
This is based in an AU world, but you don't really need the backstory on the world to follow it. Abby requested seeing the story, so here's what I managed.
Bang.
The sound of the gunshot echoes off of the surrounding mountains. All it took was one shot, and everything was finally over. The nightmare faded away, and the farm was just a quiet stretch of land again. The only telltale sign left was the tiny blonde, facedown in the dirt, her blood contributing to make the soil more fertile for the next batch of crops. Aside from the gaping hole in her back, she looked more peaceful than I'd seen her in the past few years.
The old saying goes that you only hurt the one you love. I don't really buy that. I think love is about being able to do whatever it takes to stop the one you love from hurting. Even if it kills a part of you in the process.
I sit down in the dirt next to her, stroking her hair back while I wait for the bleeding to stop. The wound she sports now isn't exactly small, and it's a direct shot through her heart, so I know it won't take too long. She was dead before she hit the ground. This is just gravity pulling out whatever it can, before her body temperature drops and the blood starts to coagulate. It's already flowing slower, turning thicker and darker with each second. After another several minutes, it stops entirely. All that's left is a cold corpse, waiting for rigor mortis to set in.
Carrie was never too concerned with being clean, but I figure if I'm going to put her in the ground, she may as well be clean to start with. So I pick up her now-stiffening body and carry it inside, setting her down in the washtub. I use a small dab of glue to seal her eyes shut, so I won't have to deal with her staring me down the whole time. When she looks comfortable, I fetch the water from the well and heat it, filling the washtub so that she can have her last warm bath. I make sure to wipe away all of the dirt and blood, scraping gently under her nails and combing the tangles out of her hair. When I'm done, she looks cleaner and more put-together than I can ever remember. Well, no. That's a lie. The night I came home from Afghanistan, she had looked pretty damn well put-together. It just hadn't lasted too long.
I consider dressing her, once she's dry again, but decide against it. She was never happiest when dressed. She was happiest when she was wrapped up in our bedsheets. So that's what I'll give her for the big sleep. I lay her down on our long unused bed, and carefully wrap the sheets around her, tucking and folding until she's entirely covered. The easy part is over. Now all that's left is the finality.
It isn't until I'm waist-deep in the 3x6 hole that I realize just how little it all hurts. The shock of the lack of pain jolts me, and I'm forced to sit down. It wasn't this easy with Colin. I remember distinctly the pain, the fear, and the anger that consumed me when Colin was listed MIA. I remember the blind fury that sent me crusading after him, and that cost me almost everything, but none of it mattered because losing him meant I already had nothing left to lose. I curl in on myself, shaking and vulnerable in a way I can't remember being since I was old enough to use logic and reason. Colin had been my lover and my friend, but Carrie had been my everything. I cover my ears to block out the sound of my own pathetic screaming and wailing, unable to stop the awful noises from escaping, no matter how badly I want to just be quiet and finish the task at hand.
They never did find Colin's body. The funeral for him consisted of an empty casket, placed in a standard military grave, marked by a generic white cross. The flag went to his girlfriend he had left back at home, while I watched anonymously from the back of the crowd. I was no one. A dishonored soldier, with no standing or reason to be there. His girlfriend was lovely and broken, and I knew that I could never speak to her. Nothing I could say would ever make her feel better. So I left, as silently and anonymously as I had arrived.
I don't know how long I sit in the half-dug grave, but it's dark again when I stand to finish the job. Not that night has any meaning anymore. Time has no meaning anymore. Everything blurs and runs together. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, all of it has been forgotten after this long. When survival becomes such a struggle, everything else falls to the wayside. It's frivolous and pointless. The moon is high in the sky when I finally finish digging, and I toss the shovel back out before lifting myself up. I could have done this in seconds. Totally cheated. But Carrie deserved the sweat and effort of a proper grave.
I find her body just as I left it, not sure why I was expecting anything different. I guess the thought of her being still is just too foreign to me. I pick her up and find that she's now entirely cold, nothing more than rigid dead weight. The awkwardness of her stiff body makes carrying her difficult, despite her tiny stature and negligible weight, but I manage it. I jump down into the grave so that I can lay her down as gently as possible, resting my hat over her face, then lift myself back out.
It's as I begin to fill the grave back in that my answer comes to me, along with the tears of relief. I can't mourn my loss now, because I already spent the last two years mourning it. What I killed and buried today was a shell, the last vestiges of a hope long gone. I buried the real Carrie back when I refused to admit she was dead, and continued a charade with nothing but a body possessed. There is nothing left to mourn for now, because our pain is finally over. There is no loneliness to fear, because I have already been alone for years. All that today marks is the first day in which I can finally accept that, and allow Carrie to rest in peace.
Bang.
The sound of the gunshot echoes off of the surrounding mountains. All it took was one shot, and everything was finally over. The nightmare faded away, and the farm was just a quiet stretch of land again. The only telltale sign left was the tiny blonde, facedown in the dirt, her blood contributing to make the soil more fertile for the next batch of crops. Aside from the gaping hole in her back, she looked more peaceful than I'd seen her in the past few years.
The old saying goes that you only hurt the one you love. I don't really buy that. I think love is about being able to do whatever it takes to stop the one you love from hurting. Even if it kills a part of you in the process.
I sit down in the dirt next to her, stroking her hair back while I wait for the bleeding to stop. The wound she sports now isn't exactly small, and it's a direct shot through her heart, so I know it won't take too long. She was dead before she hit the ground. This is just gravity pulling out whatever it can, before her body temperature drops and the blood starts to coagulate. It's already flowing slower, turning thicker and darker with each second. After another several minutes, it stops entirely. All that's left is a cold corpse, waiting for rigor mortis to set in.
Carrie was never too concerned with being clean, but I figure if I'm going to put her in the ground, she may as well be clean to start with. So I pick up her now-stiffening body and carry it inside, setting her down in the washtub. I use a small dab of glue to seal her eyes shut, so I won't have to deal with her staring me down the whole time. When she looks comfortable, I fetch the water from the well and heat it, filling the washtub so that she can have her last warm bath. I make sure to wipe away all of the dirt and blood, scraping gently under her nails and combing the tangles out of her hair. When I'm done, she looks cleaner and more put-together than I can ever remember. Well, no. That's a lie. The night I came home from Afghanistan, she had looked pretty damn well put-together. It just hadn't lasted too long.
I consider dressing her, once she's dry again, but decide against it. She was never happiest when dressed. She was happiest when she was wrapped up in our bedsheets. So that's what I'll give her for the big sleep. I lay her down on our long unused bed, and carefully wrap the sheets around her, tucking and folding until she's entirely covered. The easy part is over. Now all that's left is the finality.
It isn't until I'm waist-deep in the 3x6 hole that I realize just how little it all hurts. The shock of the lack of pain jolts me, and I'm forced to sit down. It wasn't this easy with Colin. I remember distinctly the pain, the fear, and the anger that consumed me when Colin was listed MIA. I remember the blind fury that sent me crusading after him, and that cost me almost everything, but none of it mattered because losing him meant I already had nothing left to lose. I curl in on myself, shaking and vulnerable in a way I can't remember being since I was old enough to use logic and reason. Colin had been my lover and my friend, but Carrie had been my everything. I cover my ears to block out the sound of my own pathetic screaming and wailing, unable to stop the awful noises from escaping, no matter how badly I want to just be quiet and finish the task at hand.
They never did find Colin's body. The funeral for him consisted of an empty casket, placed in a standard military grave, marked by a generic white cross. The flag went to his girlfriend he had left back at home, while I watched anonymously from the back of the crowd. I was no one. A dishonored soldier, with no standing or reason to be there. His girlfriend was lovely and broken, and I knew that I could never speak to her. Nothing I could say would ever make her feel better. So I left, as silently and anonymously as I had arrived.
I don't know how long I sit in the half-dug grave, but it's dark again when I stand to finish the job. Not that night has any meaning anymore. Time has no meaning anymore. Everything blurs and runs together. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, all of it has been forgotten after this long. When survival becomes such a struggle, everything else falls to the wayside. It's frivolous and pointless. The moon is high in the sky when I finally finish digging, and I toss the shovel back out before lifting myself up. I could have done this in seconds. Totally cheated. But Carrie deserved the sweat and effort of a proper grave.
I find her body just as I left it, not sure why I was expecting anything different. I guess the thought of her being still is just too foreign to me. I pick her up and find that she's now entirely cold, nothing more than rigid dead weight. The awkwardness of her stiff body makes carrying her difficult, despite her tiny stature and negligible weight, but I manage it. I jump down into the grave so that I can lay her down as gently as possible, resting my hat over her face, then lift myself back out.
It's as I begin to fill the grave back in that my answer comes to me, along with the tears of relief. I can't mourn my loss now, because I already spent the last two years mourning it. What I killed and buried today was a shell, the last vestiges of a hope long gone. I buried the real Carrie back when I refused to admit she was dead, and continued a charade with nothing but a body possessed. There is nothing left to mourn for now, because our pain is finally over. There is no loneliness to fear, because I have already been alone for years. All that today marks is the first day in which I can finally accept that, and allow Carrie to rest in peace.