An interpretation of life meets death. A mirror of mourning.
“Nothing, I must do.
Nowhere, I should be.
No one in my life
To answer to but me.”
—ONE MORE TIME by Laura Pausini.
Christina entered the gates of the Exodus cemetery and stood solemnly over her husband’s grave. She wept but not a single tear dismounted from her rosy cheeks. She closed her eyes and felt him near. He was always near. She reflected on various moments of their lives until she made her selection.
They danced beneath the milky twilight. It was their wedding reception. He was handsome in his black tailored suit and she was as equally elegant in her white evening gown. A live band serenaded them as they waltzed in perfect stride. But now they were worlds apart.
How did all of this come to be, you ask?
Christina wedded Billy against her father’s sanction. But his disapproval was weak against the ties that bind. And they were bonded to an everlasting affair—true love. You could see it in their eyes and hear it in their voice—sentiments of true devotion.
They were both young but age knows less what love can gist and they were all that mattered in their tiny little world. But what’s a love story without tragedy?
On the way to their honeymoon Billy was slightly distracted by Christina’s swollen breasts as they protruded through her corset. Christina screamed out but it was too late. Screeching tires and busting glass were the last sounds Christina heard. Confused? It’s not an error on my part. You see, it wasn’t Billy that died that night. It was Christina.
Death is a reflection of life.
On the very same days Billy visits Christina’s grave in the “Here”, where her body lies sunken into the armpits of earth, Christina visits Billy’s grave in the “Hereafter” anticipating his arrival. But the way Billy sees it is that we all labor against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases. Maybe someday Christina will get fulfillment. Maybe someday Billy will reach for the cure.
Thank you, Ron. My errors are strictly stylistic, and albeit I write short stories this is actually one of my flash fiction pieces. I usually use these on networking sites to give readers a taste.
The fortunate inherit riches, prestige, positive notoriety. Those not so lucky bear legacies filled with poverty, infamy or, worse yet, the unhinged insanity and murderous urges of their ancestors.
Chris has been fostered at the Crowley boot camp since he turned seven. At sixteen, he is finally ready to run away because his foster father is an abusive person who works Chris and the other children to the point of exhaustion. All he has left of h
