Alone, beneath the
moon. The stars. The black void, sparkling above, forever spreading out into
the distance. No end to the darkness...The dead of night was the death of
sound. Silence engulfed, enveloped, smothered him. He could think of nothing
else, and he allowed it to eat away at him, to slowly, relentlessly, eat him up
from the inside.
What had he done?
The lapping of waves,
just below the rocky cliff. A beam of moonlight shone down, illuminating a
patch of water near the cliff, showing the doorway to that deep, dark, not blue
but black subterranean abyss. Should he throw himself in? Should he throw
caution to the winds and punish himself for his unforgivable sin? Or would
remaining alive, with that now empty space in his heart, be better punishment?
What had he done?
He raised his eyes to
the sky. The ends of his straw-coloured hair rustled like
distant whispers in a breeze. His blue eyes; they had been gentle once; were
squeezed shut now. And the tears still flowed down his cheeks, glistening,
shining, glittering in the crystal light of the moon against his skin. His pain
screamed out as a silent wail, coming forth inaudibly from his wide open mouth
– stretched wide from his pain. His self-inflicted pain.
What had he done?
And he finally screamed
into the night, breaking the void of silence that had so carefully covered his
ears like a stifling blanket. He screamed out to the black sky, the crystal
moon, the blinking stars. His throat grew raw and he screamed still. His lungs
begged for breath and he screamed still. The sound of the most devastated of
men. The most dead of men. Dead while alive. He was dead.
Dead.
Dead!
What had he done? How
could he have…?
And he slowly lowered
his head, ashamed that he had been so bold as to look to the heavens after what
he had done. And he slowly opened his eyes, wet and misted over with tears,
flowing because of his pain. His faze fell upon the water, the black engulfing,
washing surface. His gaze fell upon the moonlit patch where the darkness seemed
to swallow him whole…
A wave.
A beat.
A wave was all it took.
A beat was all that followed.
Scraping the dark
surface from beneath, barely reaching for the sky beyond. Was it in his mind?
He saw it…the white skin of a pale hand, hardly clinging to life as it fought
to surface. It fought for its life, its right to live. It fought for this
right, the very way she had…he had snuffed it out, had he not?
What had he done?
…what would he do?
It was his body and
lungs that would scream in protest to the heavens as he leapt, throwing his
arms out, straightening his legs. It was his body and lungs that would cry out
as the cold water suffocated him, as the waves crashed around, behind him,
above him, against the cliff’s face. His body screamed against the cold that
froze to the bone, and further as he broke surface. His lungs burned from the
exertion, the cold air. The water tried to jump down his throat, to drown him.
The waves tried to slam him back into the cliff, to pull him under, over and
over, as he stretched out flat and worked his arms, his legs, in desperation.
Perhaps he had taken too much time already…but he reached out, despair trying
to squeeze the life out of him – whatever kind of life that may be. A great
surge brought him to the patch of crystal light. Now only his wet limbs
occupied the space.
No…no…no! Where?
Water dripped down his
face, his nose, his chin, his hair, stinging his eyes.
Where?
Where?
Where?!
And then there! Left,
behind him by about a foot, still floating just beneath the surface. He surged,
he dove, he stretched out to reach it as it began to sink – to sink? No! – he
reached out and his hand grasped…closed around…something. Solid. Cold. Thin.
Was that…a beat?
He arrived, pulled with
one hand, brought the other hand around and found a hold. He pulled up,
enveloped it in his arms, as he kicked to remain afloat with this new weight
bearing down on him.
Hold on…hold on…don’t
sink…don’t sink…don’t die!
His strength balled up
and combusted in a powerful blast. His lungs. His arms. His body. They moved
together without conscious thought to direct them. The shore to the right of
the cliff, licked gently by the waves, was scarred by their arrival. The sand
bore the marks of the passage as he dragged it along on stumbling feet, up the
shore, the grit sticking to his clothes, his skin, his hair.
Collapsed.
He collapsed in the
sand, breathing heavily. Hard. The water coming up in coughs as he strained for
breath. His left arm, stretched over the survivor. Was it a survivor? His right
arm, crushed beneath him. He breathed in…out…in…out…and finally took the time
to affirm what he could maybe have accomplished. His right arm propped him up
on his side as his pain lay dormant, while he tried to see if his desperation
had perhaps – just perhaps – saved a life.
He had to life his left
hand to wipe water from his eyes, his face, and to push back his dripping
bangs.
The moon, shining
brightly above, crystal in a clear sky, shone down on them, there, on the
would-be-white shore. The stars twinkled gently in the dark, through the dark,
upon him, as his eyes graced her fallen face. Her skin, pale and wet in the
white, pale light, glistening with beads of clear water, curved from a defined
jaw to a pointed chin. Her sharp cheek bones sat prominently below closed,
lidded eyes. Her long, dark eyelashes tickled her white, pale forehead. Her
soaked, black hair, with grains of sand clinging to the strands, splayed about
her, fell away from her face, her clear, smooth, perfect face…her divine face,
inlaid with the softest of curved lips…the straight, pointed nose at the
visage’s centre. The very image of perfection…but for the deathly pallor that
infected her. Her thin, slender figure was clung to by a thin, white
under-dress. The fabric stuck to her every curve as eh lay oblivious to the
world, splayed across the sand like a fallen angel.
He was…too late?
Unworthy! How unworthy
was he, to so much as look upon this woman after his failures?! What was he
thinking? His pain had clearly ailed his mind! How could he think himself so fortunate
to lay eyes upon such a beauty as this, and still live?
Yet once again, he had
failed a beautiful woman. He did deserve to die, once and for all. His unworthy
eyes graced her figure again. Tears welled up in those hurt, blue eyes once
more as he drew himself up, to sit on that white shore, to draw her limp, frail
form into his lap, to cradle her delicate, perfect head in his arms.
Why must they encounter
this way?
The thought was naught
but a whisper, carried by the breath of his lungs into the still air of the
night. Her life could have been so filled with beauty and fortune, and yet…and
yet…
Was it he, at fault?
This woman, the image of perfection, whom he had never met…was her death the
consequence to his living? He was…a devil? Destined to rot in hell…was he not?
And yet…and yet! He
cradled her with softness, tenderness, in his arms; ere she lay…He could not
bear the thought that he had killed her! No!
No!
Again, a whisper,
carried from his ungrateful lips, by a breath of wind. And this whisper alighted
upon her delicate ear. The voice of a man, dying inside, revived her heart, her
soul, from the depths of their slumber. Did she dare believe…did she dare? Only
the purest of men could have brought her back. She knew no pure men. Who was
this, then, holding her? Crying tears over her like a lover. His tears were
what awoke her after all. Glittering, perfect tears…from perfect blue eyes…and
a pure heart.
Her watched her eyelids
flutter open, halfway, and breath flooded her lungs and her chest rose…fell…a
quickening pulse pattered on within her and she caught his gaze, half-aware.
Only half-aware…but aware! How unworthy was he as he buried his tear stained
face in the crook of her cold, soft neck…a woman he did not know, saved by his
unworthy dare…
I am sorry…
Sorry…
So sorry…
For what?
For living…
Don’t be sorry…anymore…
As her delicate arms
wrapped around him, he knew he was terribly unworthy, but…he could not deny her
her request, could he?
If anyone could save
him, she could. And she did.
If anyone could save
her, he could. And he had.
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