a tragedy of some kind

can you feel it

Oh the joys of writers block, apologies for my lateness.

xx

****************************************************

"Suicide sometimes proceeds cowardice, but not always; for cowardice sometimes prevents it; since as many live because they are afraid to die, as die because they are afraid to live." ~ Charles Caleb Colton

He held it in his hand,

remembering her words so long ago.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" She whispered.

"How would you go?"

"A bullet to the head" she murmured,

quietly,

yet filled with conviction.

"Why?" he asked,

just as quiet.

She stared at him,

her eyes windows,

to the galaxies beyond,

hidden just out of reach,

teasing him with their possibilities.

Then answered,

candid as anything,

bravely exposing her soul,

the deepest parts of herself,

trusting,

so easily,

he envied her for her assured nature.

"If I were actively seeking death,

I wouldn't want to spend any more

time here than I had too,

I'd want it to be quick.

"Maybe that makes me a coward,

But I can live with that,

Because I'll be dead."

her tone inflected with irony and

sarcasm as she replied,

but laced with a kind of ambigious

certainty.

He disagreed.

It was not cowardly,

as was her general concensus.

Being so frank with death,

looking it right in the face,

it was a braver feat than he could

imagine.

He didn't say it.

Not out loud.

But she knew,

she always knew.

Atleast he thought she did.

So he just watched her silently.

Unable to find the words to fill the

stagnant pause.

It crushed the breath from his lungs,

had him gasping inaudibly,

all of which,

escaped her notice.

"But why?"

"Why would I want to die" she laughed,

her voice filled with bright humour he

did not feel.

"I have everything I'd ever want,

that I'd ever need."

"I have you"

He didn't have an answer for that,

not yet.

So he just held her close,

but he would.

He just didn't know it yet.

That he would be the one to send her

there,

to the black abyss.

Stripping her of every ounce of her fiercest life force,

Rippling with possibilities of the future.

No,

that would be a lie.

She gave it to him willingly,

unaware of her mistake,

and that made all the difference.

It would be impossible not to feel that

kind of guilt,

it weighed one down like an anchor.

It drowned him out at sea.

Beyond sight of land or favour,

condemned to the darkness.

Following in her footsteps,

down the path of his intended,

the one he himself mapped so carefully,

for her use.

Like an alluring siren,

drawing him for the righteous folds of

his convinced innocence,

so he would see the churning hurricane

before him,

the intensity of her agony,

so he could finally fathom the profound

depth,

of his duplicitous deeds,

as she slipped away,

past the reach of his guilt-ridden arms.

-Logan