Tag Archives: grief
The Final Tear
“So help me–” he began, his voice cutting through the dim, rancid air that seems to have settled. He spoke, and her heart stuttered. Oh, the world stuttered. (Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly–) A flutter of fire, a fractaling explosion of … Continue reading
Countdown
What if it isn’t really her? It doesn’t matter. What if it isn’t really him? It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. It never matters. It’s never mattered. It is him. She can feel it. Five… I don’t know if you … Continue reading
Hear Me
She bumps into a passer by, long fingers grabbing a wallet. It happens eight more times before she feels like she’s got enough cash to fund food. Dumpster diving often finds a rather startling amount of good eats, but she’s … Continue reading
The Music Box
Everything was pain. (Before the black night moves again) She knew that, now. Everything was pain, and it had been pain, and it was going to be pain, forever and ever, amen. She could not see him, anymore; her eyes … Continue reading
So very far ahead
Stumbling forward, hands outstretched, blood dripping from ragged fingertips. She reaches for him, not knowing where he is, only that he is ahead. So very far ahead. Stumbling forward, eyes unseeing, blinded by both rage and loss. She looks for … Continue reading