BEAUTIFUL FLOWER | MATTHEO RIDDLE

THE LAST SUPPER

─── ･ ｡ ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Soft pellets of rain grazed lightly down the windows strung in the library, the sounds of them echoing like the feet of small children tiptoeing down a corridor, the air in the room a cold whisper against my skin. The rain still had not stopped. I slouched in the chair in which I sat, my eyes dwelling on the table in front of me, the feeling of emptiness hugging me from behind, as though it were mocking me in a way that only I could understand.

It whispered in my ear, here you sit, one last time. I felt the goosebumps crawl around my skin as I thought of myself sitting here, the blank parchment in front of me, a quill and ink beside it. Taunting me, my eyes refusing to do so much as sneak a glance for the fear of accepting my reality. This would be my last time sitting at this table.

I wanted it to be my last time sitting here, looking up at these windows, listening to the sound that the raindrops made when they lapped against them. I wanted this to be the last letter that I ever wrote, and the last words belonging to me ever recorded on a piece of parchment.

The very last words written by my own shaking hand.

As the thoughts crept into my head, I welcomed them, picturing the various ways it could happen. Would I take my last breath in a corridor, in a field of grass, laying in a pool of my own blood? Would it be painful, or would it be quick; perhaps it would be both. I could go slowly, though the thought of that did scare me, intriguing as it was, along with the irony that coupled it. Hadn't I been doing that to myself already–starving and starving and starving–hadn't I, this whole time, been killing myself slowly? Who would be by my side, and what would they do?

I think I would like to have my hand held. To feel the warmth from another, no matter who, seeping into my skin like a soft blush riding on a wave of unsettled relief. Maybe they would lay beside me, or cradle me in their arms while my limp head rested in their lap. Maybe they would try to save me, or maybe they would finish me off, once and for all. It could be a friend or an enemy, and I would not mind either, because at least then, in my few remaining moments, they would be there and they would be with me.

My temples ached when the brief thought of dying alone fashioned itself into my mind. I pushed that thought away, because if there was one thing I could ask for, if not anything else, it would be to die any other way.

Without a second thought, not even a moment of hesitation, I drew forward and reached for the quill. I picked it up one last time, a small smile on my lips, and I began my goodbye.

─── ･ ｡ ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kassandra was sitting in front of a fireplace when I walked through the common room. It was empty all but for the two of us, and the air felt stiff and quiet. Her hair was tumbling over her shoulders and sprawling across the back of the couch, her head tilted downward as she focused on something I couldn't see from where I stood and observed her.

I stepped forward a moment as I looked at her, then closed my eyes. In my head, I took in the sight of what I had seen of her, tracing her thick, brown hair, the tilt of her soft jaw and the warmth of her brown, soft skin. The gentle curve of her shoulders, where freckles lay beside the dimples near her collarbone.

In a moment I could almost recognize her scent, the lingering presence of autumn and something masculine in the air even after she would leave a room, a room in which her energy stayed because it was so strong, so powerful, and filled the air as though it would cleanse it.

I would never forget her, even in death, I would see her the moment I accepted that it was my time.