She woke up not wanting the be awake. The sunlight felt like an enemy crawling on her skin, as she struggled to unwrap herself from the sheets. She had tossed so much in the night that she trapped herself within. Her dreams came back to her, the storm that chased her, the mocking moon. She had seen him too, as always, waiting on the other side, dressed in white, eyes like fire and a bleeding hole where his heart should be. She could see him walking on water towards her, pale hands stretched out for her, to save her but before she could step over the bank of the river, the tide would toss her into the morning.
She placed her feet on the tiles, eyes closed , away from the open window. She could hear her mother call, she waited. She waited for the cold to reach her chest. It did not. She did this every Saturday, waiting for death. Trimmed her hair every Friday, to look pretty for Death.
Her mother called again, and she ignored it. She was still waiting.
'Hope! I've been calling.. ' Her mother was in the room Now.
'I'm coming. Please go.' Her mother hesitated but she saw this every Saturday, she gathered herself and left.
As she raised herself from the bed to follow her mother, she felt it in her stomach first. The drugs, turning in circles, drilling in and churning out. She felt the fangs digging in, causing pain. Her mouth opened wide, but no words fell out. The cold travelled down her legs, tickling her feet, then it ran back up, reaching her stomach, one last down before starting a slow trek to her head. Her body convulsed, as the pain trekked backwards towards her heart and swallowed it.
She could finally touch his hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment