CHAPTER FIVE
THERE ARE TWENTY-FOUR hours in the day, one hundred and sixty-eight hours in a week, and one thousand four-hundred-eighty thousand nine hundred and twenty hours in seventeen years. Every hour humans are expanding their horizons, making mistakes, living life to the fullest. While another is living out their last hour that will be spent in their world. Some know when the time has come, a feeling just as inexplicable as life was, but they know. Their gut may have failed them countless times throughout their lives, but this time they know this is no feeling they can just brush off.
Humans are peculiar creatures, the second they realize that the hourglass' sand is draining down its last grains of sand, they realize what they truly wanted out of their life. Whether it be to tell their parents that they had been living out the wrong dreams they had been created for them since the first time they breathed in oxygen. Or something as simple as wanting to skydive. It is an instant reaction for humans to make a list of all the things they never did, and are probably never going to do. Humans are the most pessimistic species to have ever roamed this earth.
"I made a bucket list of everything I want to do before I die,"
"Really?"
"You want to know the first thing that's on the list?"
Silence.
"You,"
Laughter...Hugging... Kissing...
Laughter. Hugging. Kissing. Laughter. Hugging. Kissing. Fighting. Lying. Cheating. Hugging. Kissing. Laughter. Hugging. Kissing. Lying. Dying.
How does something as beautiful and pure as love become such a vile and terrible thing many grow to fear as their lives progress? Why does love always find its way back onto that imaginary bucket list people have created for themselves? It's quite simple if a person were looking into the picture from the outside, but no one is capable of doing so, so long as they breathe. But those who have perished may have realized the conundrum many humans can't crack throughout their lifetime. Humans are made for love, made to love, made to spread the love. Although no one ever mentions the side effects of love.
"Leave me and I'll go crazy trying to get you back,"
Madness.
"You'd fight anyone for me?"
Madness.
"I'd turn this whole world upside down to find you,"
Madness.
"Do you love me that much?"
Love...?
+ + +
Holding hands is the most innocent ways to show affection between two lovers. But today everyone did not hold each other's hands out of love, or happiness, they held hands in solidarity among one another. They were not strong enough to stand alone so they pleadingly asked those around them for a shoulder to lean on. No words exchanged, just knowing looks. Scientists have claimed almost 75% of communication used around the world is body language, not English, Mandarin, Hindi, but body language. Being able to look at someone across the room at a party and know that they didn't want to be there just by the way their back remained glued to the wall. Being able to look at someone across the bed and knowing they don't love you anymore. Being able to communicate without words, isn't that the most fatal language?
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'You look at her like she's the sun!'
'You know how I feel about her and how I feel about you, it's—I can't explain it!'
'Why can't you just leave her?'
'I just... I just can't,'
'Then leave me.'
Leaving someone is the easiest part of a relationship. However, sticking around and watching how each partner slowly destroys one another until there are only ashes of their once beautiful relationship is what mostly happens. Only one thing holds humans as a species back. Fear. The fear of regret, of guilt, of responsibility. A force that even the strongest of loves cannot reckon with. A fear that grows inside everyone like a weed; there's a thing about weeds people forget if it doesn't get pulled out right then more will grow in its place.
"—Venus Wilson, a soul that will remain forever young, a child who has gone far too soon..."
Sniffles.
Lily floated out of the trance that had taken her away from her attention for far too long and focused back on the pastor who went on about Venus Wilson. At times Lily didn't know whether to scoff or roll her eyes at the utter bullshit of all this. She may not have known a lot about Venus but she did know that she was an atheist. Tyler hated that, being the strict Catholic drug addict he was, he believed that it was his responsibility to guide her towards the 'light' of God.
It took one name for her entire attention to shift from the closed casket to Tyler who sat in the first row of the old church. His back was turned towards her, though even from the second last row she sat in, she could tell he was crying. Perhaps it was the way he would slide his palms up and down his thigh trying to rid the sweat, just like he would do before the night before a big game. Or the way he kept looking back at the door, nervously, not once noticing Lily.
'A guy like Tyler would never look at a girl like you,'
A sad smile found its way onto her features, perhaps if she let her tears flow at a funeral it would go unnoticed. Almost everyone, besides the few reporters who were allowed in, had damp, red cheeks from crying too much.
Did they even know the person in that casket was the reason for so many other deaths?
Did they know how many lives Venus Wilson had ended just by the flick of a finger?
Did they know anything?
'Oh my God!' Lily stammered out, crouching down to press her index finger and middle finger against Venus' neck.
No pulse? Pulse? No pulse? Pulse?
'—Karma's a bitch, that was what you used to say, right Venus?'
Lily's eyes widened at the sound of a gruff voice and she quickly slid under the bed pull down the blanket to cover herself.
She bit onto her hand trying not to cry aloud.
'Little, ruthless Venus dug herself a grave, caught in her own web of lies with only enemies bury her name...'
Breathe Lily.
'Breathe for me Lily, I'm going to take you home and I want you to not tell anyone about what you saw tonight, can you do that?'
