Reasons to Live - a collection of flash fiction stories

Memento Mori

Nights may shard and break underfoot. I don't care. No one cares anymore, do they? So let them all fall to their death. Nothing before the moment I touched you mattered anyway.

The night of ghosts and ghouls danced blindly around us, you and I. You laughed as you grabbed my hand and pulled me around the corner. You put your finger to my lips and hushed me. We were miles away from the others; worlds, constellations apart. I closed my eyes and felt Orion explode around us.

I heard the ruffling of costume attire, my long dress puffed comically with too much black tulle underneath. Satin whiteness blushed at the horror of not being pristine. You glowed, your eyes were bright, they shone like flames. I was a moth. You touched the wings on my back and swore nothing would ever burn them. But you lied. I lied. The world around us lied, because it was more perfect than the truth. 

I had mocked your darkness, the unsavory way you blended in with bits of black satin and red velvet. I whispered of the way the ruffles of your shirt could choke you to death. You reached for me, fingernails inked in black polish and told me that bite marks were relatively painless. At least they didn't hurt as much as love did.

I swore, I swore to God and whatever Heavens He may be dwelling in that I did not love you, not that way, not forever, but I always had, I already did. I lied. It broke my heart, for your hands were as velvety as your costume, your tongue was the satin that made your skin more pallid. We all lied. This was something more.

You made my wings crack against the brick wall. I will never forget the sound. It sounded like the ending of a symphony. A requiem for a dream. But I dared go on with this madness.

Impossible loves...

Your heart uttered. I heard it between the lies.

I wanted nothing more but to collect the feathers that had blended with the velvet, to pull them all out of the darkness and sew them back to my skin. But the needle was too sharp, the pain was too harsh. Hearts were made to be broken, not mended.

I remember your lips, the way they curled up. I remember ladders to the sky, the way we tried to clamber up, how we fell. How I tried to catch you before my wings melted against the rising of the new day's sun.

© Christine Bottas. All rights reserved 2015-2018.