I WAS FEELING MEAN AND POETIC SO ENJOY #aRtSy
Cas' POV
I look to the sky. Past the moon, past the stars, past the void. I look for guidance from my father, I look for forgiveness from anyone.
I look down at the one I love. His green eyes shut, probably never to open again. I still clutch tightly to the blade that slid through him like he was butter, and cling to his shirt, like it is the last thing tethering me to this earth. I think it is.
I collapse. My chest heaves--from puking or crying, I can't tell. It's probably both. I still hold my items, but now I am in the fetal position, my head resting on his chest.
I want to bring him back. I want nothing more. I would sacrifice myself to see him safe. Maybe that is an option? No. I can't be silly. No one wants my life, my soul, my stolen grace. I am worthless. The one person who I truly cared about; the one person who actually reciprocated those feelings is gone.
I bring my head up to take a long, shaky breath. I can't think. I need to get out of here. Out of this life or this place, I don't know.
I take one last glance at him, and then I can't anymore. It hurts too much. Once again, it occurs to me that I did this, and I am reminded of what a screw up I am.
I try to hold back the tears. I don't know why, because I am alone in this world. No one knows, no one cares. There was someone who cared, and we were going to be forever only a while ago. Now I'm standing over his dead body, trying to draw a decent breath, and holding back tears for no one.
I eventually turn my back. This is too much to handle. I walk slowly down the barren road, regrettably leaving his dead body laying on the shoulder. My footsteps crunch loudly on the rocks, and all I can think of is bones.
I walk until I reach a bridge that overlooks an extremely beautiful river, and I can hear the whitewater that runs just below the bridge crashing against itself. It's like me, I think. It is trapped within the walls of itself, and can't stop hurting and clashing against its own.
I stare at the blackness for some while, then make a move towards the side of the bridge. It's not well protected--only a few steel bars painted red, to keep cars from going off the edge. They didn't anticapate people. They didn't anticapate me. Looking down once more, I notice how easy it would be to just step off the edge. No one is left to miss me, or care, and I could just remove what little ill-gotten grace I have and be done with it. It would be so easy to end it all. So terribly easy.
