Shattered

Shattered
It was a fact. An unchangable fact. No matter how he hard he tried he'd have to let go. She was gone. She would never come back. At first he tried to forget about it, move on. He pretended it never happened, but that came back to bite him.

Dreams are wonderful things: they can teach you a lesson by bringing you back some cherished memories. He couldn't remember the details, it was so long ago. He couldn't keep it within himself much longer. His passion for her was too great, too strong. It was what eventually tore him apart.

He remembered her rosy red her, brilliant blue eyes and ageless face. Her incredible smile made all around her happy. She never wore any makeup, never dressed up fancy, was never "Miss Po﻿pularity", but it was hard to criticise her. Even her worst enemies faltered with their insults. She just smiled at them. He smiled too.

It hurt him too remember. It hurt him deeply. He wished she harnessed the same love for him. He was with her the night...

He glanced up at the clock, 12:30. It couldn't have been that late could it? He didn't care; he had lost his life. He never fully understood love, it takes you by surprise. But the moment he laid eyes on her kind nature, he knew she was the one. She never argued, she never complained. He wouldn't find anyone like her ever again. Not that he was trying of course. He would never try once more.

He could just feel her soft skin. She was perfect. She was a gift. She was the reason for him to believe in God. He could have shouted it out to the whole world!

Laying in bed he remiscent of the time they first met. A crisp April's morning. He was out to get some milk for his mother when he noticed her struggling with her bags. She was smiling, although it was apparent she needed help. She was too kind to ask any of the strangers in the street. He couldn't hesitate.

"Do you need some help?" he asked her.

She swivelled round, "Yes please mister, er," she faltered.

"Smith. Gary Smith,"

"Oh, well nice to meet you Gary!" she smiled, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He cried. Not of sadness and neither hapiness. He cried for no apparent reason. God had given him the best thing and the world and then tooken it away in only one year; it was apparent, he was teasing.

Soon his sadness turned into something else. Anger? No.......Depression? No........Acceptance? No..........It was unbearable, he didn't know what to feel. Rage wouldn't solve anything. If he took his life he could be with her. No, suicide led to eternal punishment while she, bless her heart, would be in Heaven.

He switched on the television, trying to take his mind off it all.

"And now, continuing our romance week-"

He switched it off violently. He shook his head and sipped some brandy, to calm him down. The silence was absolute torture. He knew nothing he could do would bring her back. It was pointless to be sad. They say you better leave your past behind you, his past was all he had. He was trapped. No, he was something more than trapped: he was shattered...........

Cupid had taunted him and was still taunting him in his dreams. He had no idea how ling he had slept, but that didn't matter. More memories flooded his mind until it reached it's capacity. He had to let out his feelings. But who would understand? Nobody. Nobody at all. It didn't make sense. This never happened to his sister, she also had a love that died. But this love was her love of poetry. Now she was into cheerleading and all that girly stuff. He used to love her. They were close. He could tell her all his troubles.

"Why?" he muttered up at the ceiling.

He still wasn't cheered up two weeks later. He insisted he was fine, but you could see it in his eyes. She was everything to him.

He had barely eaten anything, as if fasting was a form of grieving. He had gotten thinner. Much thinner. So much it was scary. He might soon wither away into nothing but ash. He certainly hoped. Obeying God was harder with a broken heart. Only his heart was more broken than anyone could have imagined. He didn't curse Satan or God. He knew not all bad things were the work of some Supreme Being. It was balance. The greatest thing must be balanced with the worst thing.

He could understand that. Yin and Yang worked together for balance, not for the heart. But it was only ine year! One year against the rest of eternaty! That was not balance! It would be fine if she came back by New Year's day, but no! Fate favours the strong. He must have been measly.

During the cold nights he didn't even attempt to sleep. Why bother?

He bolted upright. Was it a dream? No! He was certain he heard her voice. It was cliche, he was watching way too much of Romance Week. He laughed sarcasticly.

"Oh Gary you must really be losing your marbles now!" he told himself.

Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead as he stated that. Something otherworldy was trying to contact him. It disturbed him more than it relieved him. His heart and mind were left in ruins, he was imagining the whole thing!

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream....." he heard someone say. It wasn't her voice, he was sure of that.

"Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream........."

His heart (or what was left of it) hammered against his chest. He closed his eyes muttering, "dear God" over and over. What was this?

The voice soon disappeared. It scared him. It sort of reminded him about how she died...

"Ann!" he cried.

"Gary!" she screamed.

Explosions went off behind them.

"We have to get out of here!"

"But how!"

"The fire exit!"

She fell back, barely hanging onto the rails of the peek. Nobody told them hte building they were in was covered in mines! He grabbed her hand and yanked her up. More explosions went off. Windows were smashed to pieces, blood and glass lying everywhere.

"Don't let go Gary. Please!"

She stepped back and then.....the thought was too horrible for words. He crinkled his nose in disgust. He couldn't live like this. He couldn't die like this.....

Fear is a parasite. It needs a host to feed it and therefore, let it live. It can reproduce into many manifestations, but the point is, he was not a victim, but a host.

By morning he had regained sense. It was surely his mind playing tricks on him. Breakfast tasted as bland as ever, two slices of overburnt toast smeared with butter. After that he just went back to bed. His mum told him too move on and his dad told him to stand firm. He just wanted to vanish altogether. If he could rewrite history then it would be okay. He told himself he was crazy and went back to mourning.

Suddenly and without warning his phone went off. He reluctantly reached for and slowly held it up to his ear.

"Hello...." he said blandly.

To his astonishment the same horrible, blood-curdlingly raspy voice that had tortured him the other night spoke three words that, at the precise moment, ment nothing, "Sin never dies....."

His eyes went wide with shock. He soon collapsed on his bed, his life was changing already...

He kept his eyes on the clock. Falling asleep would be a fate worse than death. It was pain. He kept telling himself it wasn't his fault but deep down he believed it was. He had caused her death.

"Wake up! Wake up!"