Awakening-Ignatius: Goodbye
He didn't start crying until after they'd all left. It wasn't purposeful, the pain just didn't register until they all got in to their cars and drove away. Sitting now at the base of the old elm, he began to weep. Clutched in his left hand was a square of white cotton, embroidered with flowers at one corner, and stained the color of rust with blood. In his right hand he held a Colt M1911 .45 caliber pistol with the safety off and the hammer back. In his heart he prayed that pain from one might take away pain from the other.
It was a Georgia winter and snow littered the ground all around him, soaking through his wool overcoat. His breath came out in lazy puffs of steam and his cheeks had long ago gone numb, but he didn't notice the biting cold around him or the way his tears froze on his week-old beard. Shaving, somehow, didn't matter now that she was gone. She'd never complain about it tickling her lips, or joke that he looked like a bum. Besides... it hid the scar.
Wet... soaked in blood. The patch of ice, I must've slid... hot. Heat. Fire. There's fire somewhere close. Gotta move, if only the seat belt will... there we go. Ok... now I just need to slide- Ahhh! Metal through the door and through my side... that explains the blood. Hard to breathe. Rebecca? No, Rebbeca!? Oh God, please... no. Ok. There she is, lying a few yards from the car. No flames... no cuts. She looks ok. I have to get to her, she's unconscious. Where's that fire coming from? I just... oh God, this hurts... I just need to push the metal out...
They'd burned the ground the night before, softening the dirt so that they could dig. He'd noticed earlier that morning how the ground seemed a bit black, and somewhere in the back of his mind he'd remembered that they did that. Now, looking out at the patch of black earth surrounded by snow, it seemed fitting. A little piece of the earth died when it realized she was gone. The whole world, covered in ice and capped with a grey sky, seemed to mourn her passing.
Crawl. One hand forward, one knee forward. Repeat. Keep going. Got to drag her away from that car... and those flames, wherever they are. She looks so peaceful... almost asleep. No. What's wrong? She feels warm... I don't see any cuts... she's no breathing. Oh God, she's not breathing. Breathe, Becks. Breathe! BREATHE!
Suicide is a mortal sin... and for all of him, he couldn't do it. Every time he tried, every time he put the barrel in his mouth, he saw her face. Heard her voice. Crying, he eased the hammer back down without firing, letting the gun fall to his side. He dropped his head in to his hands... in to her handkerchief. He could still smell her perfume, still feel her hair draped across his stomach, still feel the weight of her head on his chest.
The flames are hotter now... I don't care... let me die... I'm ready. I am dying. Brimstone. I'm going to Hell. No, I'm already in Hell.
Standing slowly he looked down at her handkerchief, soaked in tears and dried blood... and he vanished, leaving only the faint smell of brimstone.
It was a Georgia winter and snow littered the ground all around him, soaking through his wool overcoat. His breath came out in lazy puffs of steam and his cheeks had long ago gone numb, but he didn't notice the biting cold around him or the way his tears froze on his week-old beard. Shaving, somehow, didn't matter now that she was gone. She'd never complain about it tickling her lips, or joke that he looked like a bum. Besides... it hid the scar.
Wet... soaked in blood. The patch of ice, I must've slid... hot. Heat. Fire. There's fire somewhere close. Gotta move, if only the seat belt will... there we go. Ok... now I just need to slide- Ahhh! Metal through the door and through my side... that explains the blood. Hard to breathe. Rebecca? No, Rebbeca!? Oh God, please... no. Ok. There she is, lying a few yards from the car. No flames... no cuts. She looks ok. I have to get to her, she's unconscious. Where's that fire coming from? I just... oh God, this hurts... I just need to push the metal out...
They'd burned the ground the night before, softening the dirt so that they could dig. He'd noticed earlier that morning how the ground seemed a bit black, and somewhere in the back of his mind he'd remembered that they did that. Now, looking out at the patch of black earth surrounded by snow, it seemed fitting. A little piece of the earth died when it realized she was gone. The whole world, covered in ice and capped with a grey sky, seemed to mourn her passing.
Crawl. One hand forward, one knee forward. Repeat. Keep going. Got to drag her away from that car... and those flames, wherever they are. She looks so peaceful... almost asleep. No. What's wrong? She feels warm... I don't see any cuts... she's no breathing. Oh God, she's not breathing. Breathe, Becks. Breathe! BREATHE!
Suicide is a mortal sin... and for all of him, he couldn't do it. Every time he tried, every time he put the barrel in his mouth, he saw her face. Heard her voice. Crying, he eased the hammer back down without firing, letting the gun fall to his side. He dropped his head in to his hands... in to her handkerchief. He could still smell her perfume, still feel her hair draped across his stomach, still feel the weight of her head on his chest.
The flames are hotter now... I don't care... let me die... I'm ready. I am dying. Brimstone. I'm going to Hell. No, I'm already in Hell.
Standing slowly he looked down at her handkerchief, soaked in tears and dried blood... and he vanished, leaving only the faint smell of brimstone.