Please Don't Go.
She died but he would have none of it.
They all tried to tell him, comfort him, in those gray granite days and hopeless black nights. "Grieve and move on," they said in one voice through many different words. "Make your peace. Let her go." Family. Friends. All those bastards turned against him. They had made it clear where their allegiances now rested. He understood perfectly what this meant.
They were the enemy. Do not listen to them.
He understood the value of patience, you see. Never was there a man that could bide his time like he could. After she was put in the ground in the aftermath of a short though sweet memorial service, the enemy came to him often. Frequent visits. Numerous phone calls. Gently pushing him to let her be no more. He knew the game. He played the part. He offered sincere looking smiles. He assured them all he was on their team.
After some time the voices slowly melted away, sure they had brought him over to their side of things. He quit his job. Men in suits had given him a lot of money because she had died. He used it to help his patience. He redid the master bedroom exactly as she would have wanted it had they ever had the money to do so. He drank often and with grim determination.
He waited the enemy out and when he was sure they were gone, he went to work.
On a night, moonless and rain soaked, he grabbed his newly purchased shovel and drove to see his lady. The wet ground made getting to her a bit easier, but his muscles screamed the deeper he went with the only thing pushing him forward being his unyielding love.
She was dead but he would have none of it.
He was a mess of wet mud and fury. When he got to the coffin, he chuckled with glee. He could not haul it up by himself and instead opened the lid and saw her lying there. He cried tears of joy. They were reunited after all.
He wrapped his true love up in blankets he had bought with the money he made from her death. He carried her to their car and he drove her home. He let her take a nap while he cleaned himself up. When he went into the bedroom with her he was nervous. He felt like he did the first time they had met, when shyness was impossible to overcome. They were together again. The enemy, even death, could not keep them apart. He played her favorite music. He told her everything that had happened during her time away. He knew she was happy to be home with him but there was just something off. He suspected being dead had made her very sad.
They had always wanted to have children together. They had put it off thinking of course they had all the time in the world, as all young couples do. He knew she wanted a child. For the next couple of days and nights, before the police came to separate them once more, he tried to give her a child. He knew they would not know for sure for a couple of weeks but you know.....
..fingers crossed.
At night in the dark, holding her close, he whispered the same thing over and over. That he never wanted her to leave him again.
He's still waiting on her reply.
(c)Shawn J. Douglas 2010
They all tried to tell him, comfort him, in those gray granite days and hopeless black nights. "Grieve and move on," they said in one voice through many different words. "Make your peace. Let her go." Family. Friends. All those bastards turned against him. They had made it clear where their allegiances now rested. He understood perfectly what this meant.
They were the enemy. Do not listen to them.
He understood the value of patience, you see. Never was there a man that could bide his time like he could. After she was put in the ground in the aftermath of a short though sweet memorial service, the enemy came to him often. Frequent visits. Numerous phone calls. Gently pushing him to let her be no more. He knew the game. He played the part. He offered sincere looking smiles. He assured them all he was on their team.
After some time the voices slowly melted away, sure they had brought him over to their side of things. He quit his job. Men in suits had given him a lot of money because she had died. He used it to help his patience. He redid the master bedroom exactly as she would have wanted it had they ever had the money to do so. He drank often and with grim determination.
He waited the enemy out and when he was sure they were gone, he went to work.
On a night, moonless and rain soaked, he grabbed his newly purchased shovel and drove to see his lady. The wet ground made getting to her a bit easier, but his muscles screamed the deeper he went with the only thing pushing him forward being his unyielding love.
She was dead but he would have none of it.
He was a mess of wet mud and fury. When he got to the coffin, he chuckled with glee. He could not haul it up by himself and instead opened the lid and saw her lying there. He cried tears of joy. They were reunited after all.
He wrapped his true love up in blankets he had bought with the money he made from her death. He carried her to their car and he drove her home. He let her take a nap while he cleaned himself up. When he went into the bedroom with her he was nervous. He felt like he did the first time they had met, when shyness was impossible to overcome. They were together again. The enemy, even death, could not keep them apart. He played her favorite music. He told her everything that had happened during her time away. He knew she was happy to be home with him but there was just something off. He suspected being dead had made her very sad.
They had always wanted to have children together. They had put it off thinking of course they had all the time in the world, as all young couples do. He knew she wanted a child. For the next couple of days and nights, before the police came to separate them once more, he tried to give her a child. He knew they would not know for sure for a couple of weeks but you know.....
..fingers crossed.
At night in the dark, holding her close, he whispered the same thing over and over. That he never wanted her to leave him again.
He's still waiting on her reply.
(c)Shawn J. Douglas 2010