| highest rank: #214 in short story |
piece by piece, leaf by leaf, and as each season passes me by, I will follow her into tomorrow
cover by the wonderful @eunxia-
Every time my eyes close I see her hit the windshield of the car.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
We were supposed to celebrate our anniversary and go home.
We didn't go home.
As the snow spun in the air, innocently twirling into our hair, we laughed and walked out of Midnight Cafe.
The world was glittery and warm with the moon reflecting on the white earth.
Our hands, intertwined like tendons, held us steady as we laughed with giddy smiles.
We were headed to a tattoo shop, each of us getting a piercing for the hell of it.
We didn't make it.
Cory Rogers was one of the nicest men I've ever met. He was constantly helping around town and a fan of all things musical. He donated large chunks of his money to our local orphanage each year, choosing to live in a cottage on 6th street as opposed to a mansion on 12th.
His car slid. It was icy. He didn't make it home to see his infant daughter, Della. His grave is picturesque, adorned with flowers and lanterns.
I didn't look at the road, I didn't see him, and Sicily pushed me out of the way.
As my body hit the ground I saw her in slow motion.
Her lips parted in a gasp and her eye clamped shut.
Her body slammed against the windshield of the car and broke like ice.
The impact painted a deep line of crimson on her forehead that trickled gently down her face, caressing her skin. Her pale hair crumpled around her body and mixed delicately with the rouge of her blood.
My head hurt, screaming at me to stay down.
My body ached, yelling for me to not move.
I ran to Sicily as fast as my body would allow.
People had already called 911.
It felt surreal.
The snow was beautiful. Beautiful and vicious. As the lights reflected against it and we screamed, it stayed silent, not a care in the world.
Sicily didn't scream.
Tears silently trickled down the curve of her face, blurring the dust of freckles upon her cheeks.
She was unconscious but she felt dead.
Cold. Ice against my skin. Death on her lips.
For a moment, I was back at the lake, clutching Rea, crying.
Cold. So, so cold.
Then I was pressing my lips against Sicily's face, begging her to wake up.
I was holding her, rocking us together, feeling my eyes pour.
The snow created a gentle blanket on my shoulders.
Cameron and the Martins ran out of the cafe.
Cam, threw up, sick with grief. He sank down against the brick of the building, his eyes wide with shock. He was trembling, his hands pulling at his hair.
Sicily's dad, Nathan, dropped.
Dropped like a pin to the ground and started sobbing.
Matt tried so hard to look strong as he spun around, shielding the eyes of his husband and his children. Kinsale cried out for Sicily, pushing against the arms of his fathers, desperate to heal his sister.
Everything was loud. An orchestra of ugly strings slicing the air harmoniously in despair. Our voices filled the street, echoing and amplifying our pain.
Sicily didn't stir. She was silent as the night and her face sparkled with my tears.
"Wake up," I begged, kissing her over and over, "oh my god, please wake up.
Come back, come back, wake up Sicily, wake up!"
My throat was raw, constricted and suffocating me as I shook.
When the ambulance came, I was passed out.
I had a concussion and my ribs had been colored vibrantly by bruises.
In my arms was the body of my best friend.
Clutched in my arms was the love of my life, hair matted with blood and mouth painted by crimson and my tears.
And even in her sleep, she was beautiful.
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