In View Of The Distant Hills

Having been deserted by her soul mate, a young girl attempts to recover her life...

Trudy believed in Sam. She had believed Sam to be her ‘one true love.’ She’d thought they’d spend the rest of their lives together. She’d thought they’d get married. She’d thought that Sam had believed in the them both. But the tragedy for Trudy was that she hadn’t thought any further. Because one day Sam was gone and all he’d left her was a note in an envelope.

 

“Bye-bye baby.

I loved you but loved you too much.

You loved me too much too.

But too much love can kill you.”

　

　

  Knowing him as she thought she did, Trudy instantly knew what it meant. Though she was still only 17, in the very moment she read these words she felt a devastation like an entire lifetime of dead-ends culminating in a gravestone. A desolate shaft seemed to creak violently open inside her and a million different feelings fell through. Many contradictory things were being revealed to her and she was realising them all in an instant: she’d love him forever, she wished she’d never met him, she wished she’d never read the note, that she’d never even found the envelope, that she’d never forget his words, that true love would never die, that true love was unhappiness, that she might as well be dead, that she’d always remember that moment, that her life had already been wasted, that her life had been wonderful, that it was over, he was gone and now so was she …that she’d never let go.

  Thought upon racing thought spiralled through her, trying to find a way out. But the tragedy for Trudy was that she settled on the last. Somewhere out there Sam still existed, and that was enough. She’d never let go.

  But it wouldn’t help. The weeks that followed were just a breakdown. Her soul was falling. Falling like a baby from an unattended cradle. Plummeting downward, she was scrambling blindly, hoping to grasp at some safety net which might yet save her. But in the end she wasn’t saved, she just landed. And somehow she was still alive.

 

  Trudy couldn’t have gone back to her mother, not now. The family home was just a bed. She’d barely been living there since she met Sam. And her mother had met Sam and disliked him. She couldn’t cope with a second millstone. She’d already had those conversations.

  “I’m not sure I’m happy about your seeing him,” her mother had said.

  “Why not, for heaven’s sake?” Trudy had pleaded.

  “I suppose you’re sleeping with him.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, mother! What do you think?”

  “I think he’s all wrong for you.”

  “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

  “I suppose your father thinks it’s wonderful!”

  “He likes him.”

  “Well, of course, it doesn’t affect him!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want me to keep your bedroom for you?”

  “I’m not moving out, mother!”

  “You might as well be. You’ll be round there every night, I know you.”

  “We only met a couple weeks ago!”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll end up getting hurt, I’ll tell you that now.”

  “Thank you, mother. Thank you for your vote of confidence.”

  “Trudy, you’re such a foolish girl.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  And her mother had sniffed haughtily and carried on with the washing-up.

 

  Trudy cried that night. It was the last time that she’d slept in her room. The pain was compounded as she could clearly see now why her father had left. The revelation hurt her badly. She was an only child. Her father had a new wife now. She could only turn to Sam.

 

  In the subsequent terrible weeks since it happened, she wandered around her life in a daze of daily hollow routine. For a while she just slept in her car. It didn’t matter now. Then one horrible, aimless day, she ran in to an old school-friend. She hadn’t seen Claire for a while and their semi-fraternal friendship was rekindled when Claire offered her the spare room in her flat.

  “The b***h I was sharing with was a psycho,” Claire explained. “She’s gone off and met some poor bloke - we can be suicidal together.”

  To Trudy, Claire’s self-abusing, self-pitying obsession was really just self-centred self-advertising. She’d never been in love, except with her own disenchantment. It was always Claire who’d done the breaking-up. No-one ever left her. But it didn’t matter anymore. Living with Claire was better than… nothing. She might as well share nothing than live with it.

 

  It was sunny the day she moved in, which to Trudy seemed inappropriate somehow. She and Claire had to do most of it themselves. Not that there was much. Trudy sneaked home one daytime to retrieve her things while her mother was at work. She rang her later.

  “So where are you?” her mother coldly asked.

  “With a friend. I don’t want to talk any more, mother,” answered Trudy, and abruptly hung-up.

  A young admirer from one of the lower flats in her block was enrolled by Claire as they finished-up. She wanted to flirt, test him out, see what he was made of; she didn’t want him. Trudy liked to be independent and would have done it all herself. But now there were things she would have to share; this was Claire’s home, she knew what Claire was like. But it was important that she thought of other things, she knew that. Somehow she needed someone around. To stop her thinking. She was still only 17 and had already experienced too much. She couldn’t understand it; she’d had what she wanted but now she was here. It hadn’t taken long for it all to go wrong. Maybe what she really wanted was too simple.

  "Just moving in?" queried a voice. Some ugly woman appeared from a doorway in the communal downstairs hall.

  "Yeah, that’s right," replied Claire dismissively, as she directed the young suitor up the stairs.

  I should have thought that was obvious, thought Trudy, inside impatient with tolerance. But the woman just stood there watching, arms crossed, as if she knew everything. Trudy was just tired of them all. She just wanted to sit down quietly and not think about anything, to rest. It was all happening too quickly, she wanted to get away; she just wanted to sit down, talk about nothing, and have a cigarette. Somehow, somewhere, that’s what he was doing.

 

  When this trial of displacement seemed over, she sat on the small single bed in her small new room. It all seemed small. Everything she still possessed was placed randomly about the floor. She gazed wistfully from hateful object to deadly souvenir. Aside from the bed, the only fixtures that remained were a wardrobe and a bookcase. The emptiness of this meagre furniture the only residue of departure from the previous girl. Then inside she shook herself, lighting a cigarette with nervous irritation, and looking out of the window. For Trudy it was an awful, awful horizon. Where do I go from here? Everything’s too hard, too heavy. I don’t want anything anymore, I can’t do it…

  Panting heavily, Claire’s young catch lingered in her room, talking pointlessly. To both Trudy and Claire all boys their own age were young. Claire’s last passing interest had been ten years older than her; and for Trudy it had been the same with Sam.

Drawing at her cigarette bitterly, she watched the boy with unforgiving disinterest. What’s the matter with him? What’s there to stay for?

  "Thanks, darling, you’ve been so good," said Claire. She didn’t want him.

 

  Trudy felt sick. Why didn’t she just get him out of here? She didn’t want him. Just the same as Sam doesn’t want me with him. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, she was sure. But he had. More than he or anyone would ever know. She wanted him here. She needed him. But he didn’t need her anymore, didn’t want her. There’s nothing left to be said. That’s it then… But somewhere inside she felt she’d never let go. He was in her.

  Finally the boy decided to go. He paused in the doorway. Just as she had at Sam’s, holding the note; all the trappings of memories still there in his room. Not wanting to leave. Hoping something would happen.

  "I’d better go then," said the boy, not knowing how to say goodbye.

  "Thanks very much for your help," Trudy said curtly. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She didn’t need his help. She didn’t need any of them. She hated them all. Even her friends. They couldn’t help her. It didn’t matter what they said, how they understood. No-one can help me, they can’t give me what I really want, she thought. I wish he was here so I could shout it all at him. Make him listen. He could make it better, make it all go away. Like he always used to.

  Claire followed the boy down the stairs as if to make sure he left. As they disappeared Trudy suddenly had a new sense of reality. She looked at the familiar objects in her new room: a disassembled life. She had brought the ruins here. She’d have to arrange them differently, not the way it was. That didn’t work, start again, change it all around. You have to start again somehow, that’s what they all tell you, she thought. That’s all she’d had since it happened. Those wise, experienced platitudes. Yes, I know, I know! She sucked on her cigarette virulently as if it were a poison keeping her alive. You feel like you want to die, I know, you feel like there’s nothing to live for, yes. Stop telling me what I already know! It doesn’t help! I know you’ve been through it all before! But you’re not going through it now! I am! It’s me! I’m feeling it now! You feel as though you want to die but you’ll get over it, I know. But I’m a living death. I know! I know! I know! Everybody else knows best but what use is that to me now? She cut off the thoughts and scrunched out her cigarette in a mug.

  Reflecting on her sorrowful bitterness, she suddenly thought of Sam again. It was all the sort of thing he used to mock, in his funny sort of anger. And then she laughed. It made her feel better and she turned to look out the window. It was sunny anyway - that was something. It would be a warm room, bright in the morning. She needed something to shine, some kind of incentive. Her window looked out onto the rear of the block which sat on the side of a hill. The town spread out below and about a mile across was another hill, with more houses, on the same level. Their windows caught the sun like mirrors reflecting hers. She bolted upright immediately and moved closer to the glass. From her memory she knew the houses and where they were. It was a perfect parallax view. Her eyes seemed predestined to pick out the house. Where she used to go. And the window she used to look through, high up, on the same level as this. An opposite window yet far away. His.

 

　

  She didn’t die. As the months passed a new pattern began to take shape. She got used to a new way of life which might somehow get her through. A forced repetition of systematic normality. She waitressed in the mornings to pay her rent; kept herself in wine and cigarettes. In the afternoons she and Claire went out with nothing to do and there was the occasional passing interest that drifted in and out. Young flirts, older flirts, she just wanted distraction; to force herself into the light. But she was just going through the motions, following in Claire’s shadow, going along with it all. The night times were harder, but they got drunk and smoked and joked about the pain. A scheme of aimlessness clouded her sense of things, giving way to Claire’s influence - a hazy puppet show for a suppressed audience.

  Trudy devised for herself a system. She thought of Sam but once a day. And when she thought of him she had the view from her window, to know he still existed. Any more than that would be fatal, she knew, she would slide back. The rest of the time she avoided it, and with her back to the window she would dismiss it all with Claire, who would sit on Trudy’s bed with a cigarette, blowing smoke in the face of the past.

 

  At first it had all been Sam. The things they used to do, the things they used to say, it could never be the same again. How it had all been so good, how it had all gone so wrong, the view of his window through hers. And when the telephone rang in Claire’s room she would sit on the edge of her bed, listening to the voice tones in hope. Then gradually the nights of cigarette smoke filled her small room and small life, and she slowly floated away. But at the end of it all there was always the window - opposite hers on a distant hill, as if he was looking through it, not seeing, not knowing. At first she’d felt like banging on the pane with her fists and screaming. But it wasn’t a fairy tale. Their love was no legend. No one would take any notice. Her private little prison, it meant nothing to the world outside. People passing below would make no comment as they looked up and saw the terrible figure of the girl in the high tower. There would be no saviour, no ending to make you cry with happiness. She’ll get over it; I did. I know, I know. But they weren’t here. There was no-one else. Just her now. And it all sounded like a tawdry little romance. Laughable. Signifying nothing.

 

  Then one day the telephone rang and triggered-off something inside her again, but these days she felt no angst and did not creep nervously to the edge of the bed, listening. It was always a smoke-filled room now; wine bottles were consumed and became the source of new light: corked with candles at night or tripped-over in the mornings and laughed at. It was the new pattern, sewing-up life. And Trudy sat numbly on her bed, dispelling her senses with nicotine, heaving her soul through the smoke. Claire’s voice giggled out from her room like a meaningless invitation. How she hated her sometimes. This wasn’t what Trudy wanted but she had no other choice. It was the best of nothing.

  There were light-headed footsteps drawing near, then Claire appeared at her door. Trudy was now at the window again, looking out, steaming the glass with her breath and blowing smoke. Claire stood there for a moment, watching disdainfully. But Trudy knew she was there; she didn’t care.

  “What you doing, Trude?” asked Claire with suspicion.

  “Nothing,” she said without emotion. Sam used to call her ‘True.’ “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m just looking at the view.”

  Claire sighed condescendingly. “You’ve got to stop this. It’s not going to achieve anything.”

  “Stop what? It’s just a view, isn’t it?” She turned. “That’s all it is. Nothing more. I can’t help what’s in it. Houses, fields, cars, people - it’s the outside world. That’s what I see, what do you see?” she asked flatly.

  “A f*****g mess,” replied her friend. “I just don’t want you slipping back, that’s all.”

  “I’m all right,” she said impatiently.

  “Good. We’ve got the rest of our lives to get on with,” added Claire with a smirk.

I know, thought Trudy. “Well, what else would you do with it?” She sat on her bed and stabbed out her cigarette in a saucer. “Who was that?”

  “Our very own little boy next door. Well, downstairs. He’s very persistent, isn’t he? I wonder why?” implied Claire.

  Trudy made nothing of it, lit another cigarette, and began arranging her make-up things from her bag. She didn’t care. “What did he want?”

  “You know what he wants,” replied the other in a suggestive voice.

  She laughed emptily, pouting fumes of smoke.

  “I know, but he’s sweet. He’s got a young friend as well. I said they could come over tonight. We can have a bit of fun.”

  Trudy breathed resignation through her smoke. “Oh, God!” She didn’t want people. She didn’t want anybody until she needed them. But she knew she had to. Claire would not leave off until she did. And a feeling inside her told her Claire was right. Something from the future. She had no answers and neither did they, but someone had to. She still had the note, it was just a small thing. She had to let go.

  “Come on, Trudes. You gotta get on with it. Forget everything. It’s your life, not his. Enjoy yourself, let things happen,” Claire cajoled.

  “Yes, I know.” But he was still in her. It wasn’t her life anymore.

  “Laugh, get drunk, like we always do. Live, be wanted, we’re in control. It’s what we’re good at. Come on.” Claire effused.

  “Alright, I know how to do it!” laughed Trudy defiantly.

  Claire smiled. “Good girl.”

 

  Good girl. That was what her mother used to say. Trudy would go along with her plans even though she didn’t like it. To pacify her, to be left alone, to get some peace. But it didn’t help. Yes, mother - Good girl. And inside it was still the same; eating away at her, twisting itself round and round in inimical spirals. It was for her own good. You don’t see it now, but one day you’ll understand - Yes, mother. She didn’t realise how independent her only child could be. Now it’s too late. But her mother had always wanted to ‘help’ and it had pushed her father away. She needed the help and Trudy was the one that got it. She never really understood. No-one can help me except myself, she thought. I know.

　

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  On the night the two young male lovers came a-courting, it wasn’t at all how Trudy had imagined it would go. Not at all in accordance with the impression she’d got from Claire after that phone call. The boy from downstairs -who had lent his assistance on that miserable day she moved in- arrived with his non-descript young friend in tow, but the new boy immediately gravitated towards Claire. As usual, it didn’t matter either way to Claire, but Trudy was almost overwhelmed at the pleasant surprise she felt when the helpful boy from downstairs thought nothing of it either and straight away came over to her.

  They’d all grouped together on Trudy’s floor with the wine, the candles and the cigarettes. And it hadn’t taken long for Claire to accept the leering attentions of her new-found worshipper. Trudy and the boy seemed to be getting on too well too quickly for her to appreciate what she was doing. But she sensed no threat from the premature familiarity. They talked and drank and smoked, and she blanked. The only thing lingering was that she couldn’t say his name - he’d told her it quite early on and she knew it was Stephen, but whenever she was about to say it the only name that formed in her head was ‘Sam.’ She was fighting all the while the urge to say his name because she feared what might happen if she tried.

  She’d come very close to saying it again when Claire spoke to her from the other side of the room; a disgusting, smouldering voice like the purring of a cat cleaning itself.

  “Drink up, girl,” she said, her captive draping himself across her like a wanton fang-less snake as she spoke.

  There was too much wine. Now music was playing. The room was smoke-filled. Trudy felt sick.

  “Alright!” she smiled.

  The young boy called Stephen laughed innocently as his friend muttered something into the flirty one’s ear and she giggled. He was thinking of something else, he didn’t know what to do.

  Trudy didn’t care. Flashes of things went through her mind. She was teetering on the edge of a balance. They knew what was best for her, she thought. Something had to happen. And she began to let herself go, she began to float. But the young boy didn’t do anything, he just talked.

  “Some people just don’t know how to behave,” he said, trying to whisper into Trudy’s ear.

  She smiled. ‘I know.’ She offered him a cigarette. He took one and looked more relaxed.

 

  And as they talked she realised that this was all he wanted. He had no other answer. He didn’t know what else to do. Just like her. And this was all she wanted. All she needed.

  A serenity began to take her over. A strange bliss, as though her soul were floating above her, watching. The flashes of thoughts that had all along brought the memory of Sam back to her as she spoke now seemed disarmed and comforting to her like a welcome ghost. There was such a precious honesty in the boy’s manner that she no longer thought of him as a boy but as the craven adult that she herself really was. And then, for the first time since she’d read that note, she found herself not thinking of Sam at all. As her words came out they seemed to turn those thoughts to smoke. And they were floating away. Just like her.

 

  At some point Claire must have wriggled out of the room, dragging her quarry with her. She had been glancing at them all the time they talked, while the lover leered over her thinking only one thing. She had awaited her moment and then sneaked off undetected, leaving circumstances to take their natural course. It made Trudy feel sick. But she didn’t care.

 

  The boy Stephen listened to her talk, the voice of her life, of her love. And he must have seen something in her, something of himself, of what he wanted - the ideals, the view. She could talk to him. Forget about the plan, waive the customs. He handed her no platitudes, offered her no answer. There was no answer. Let her float.

  And they talked and talked with no sense of time. She felt comfortable, safe. The first time since it happened; when she thought she’d never feel that way again. And then she found herself speaking aloud of that very thing, but now painlessly, and she began to smile at her broken heart.

  He watched her with deep eyes, aching to touch, to make it better. All the time her eyes were distant as if on a faraway hill. A dream. And in that dream he saw himself looking back; not seeing, not knowing, just dreaming. He watched as she bled herself dry. And with the patience of time itself, he waited.

  Eventually she stopped. She became quiet, sitting, floating, drifting off with the smoke. There was nothing left to say. For some time they sat in silence, their eyes on a faraway hill. And the smoke left the room.

 

  Then suddenly he sprang to his feet with the alacrity of a boy king. With a new lease of life he began to entertain her, to try to make her laugh. And as she watched him a feeling came into her like a breath of fresh air. Her eyes brightened and widened like a child’s upon fireworks. She smiled, and as he began to dance about the room, she started to laugh. Sam always knew how to make her laugh. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her up, and they began to dance. Like two little children they swirled round and around in waves of happiness, whipping through the air like two swans taking-off.

Then he finally let go her hand and with a finger to his lips, told her to wait and be still. The way Sam always did. She chuckled to herself like a little girl as he turned out the light. She watched him with an electric gaze. It was going to be a surprise. Then he went to the window and turned to her, looking deep into her eyes. He held up his hand - like Sam used to, to keep his baby’s attention. Then with a smile and a swift movement he hoisted the blind like a magician to reveal to her his present of the romantic, rainy, moonlit night sky.

  The moonlight fell upon her, alone before the window. It was how Sam always said he pictured her. And the pale light caught her face like a dream. But then it fell. A shock of realisation took her eyes. The boy’s smile withered and dropped as in a moment the feeling was lost, more quickly than it had been found. He watched her beauty falling - first her smile, then her eyes, then her shine, her feeling, her life, and finally her tears. In horror he saw the beauty herself falling, and rushed forward with an embrace to catch her. She sank into him, her whole hopeless life seeping out of her. He held her tightly as if he’d never let go, holding her up from the floor, floating in his arms.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”

  “I know.” Then cried, disintegrating from inside to out. “I know.”

  “It’s all right.” His voice faltered. “It’ll be all right… Trudy… You’re so beautiful… Please don’t cry.” He felt her dreams were swimming inside him, her cries twisting within him like inimical spirals, consuming him. “…I love you…” he whispered. “I love you…”

Her tears were suddenly stifled and she stiffened. He slowly lowered his face upon hers and felt the tepid salt freshness on her lips as he kissed her; an ocean of softness…

But she didn’t want him. The same way Sam didn’t want her there.

  He kissed her again, repeating the words, faster, and again, more, kissing her, kissing her.

  “I love you…”

  She asked him to stop -it’s not you- but he kept repeating the words, kissing her, to silence her. But it wasn’t enough. I know. It wasn’t him. But he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t stop, she begged him to stop -please don’t- but he wouldn’t let go. Please don’t, I’m just a baby! I need my life, my love, why doesn’t he come? Please let me go, please stop it, please! It isn’t you. She tried to shout but she couldn’t be heard. Her thoughts made no words, she could not make a sound. But inside she was screaming. Let me go! Help me! But below in the street outside the window, the people passed by and made no comment. She’ll get over it; I did. And he kept whispering, kept talking, kept kissing, “I love you, I love you.” But it wasn’t him. She reached out for something solid in the darkness to help her. Stop it! Stop it, please! But he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t let go. Then she thrust herself into him and into him, again and again in a violent action to the rhythm of her thoughts. It isn’t him, it isn’t him. It isn’t you! I love you, I love you, I love you! Then she felt him melt away like warm liquid on her hands… and he let go, slumping silently to the floor with a small deflated quiver. And he stopped.

  Trudy stood motionless above, staring straight ahead, clutching a blood-wet knife. But she didn’t care. And beyond her was that window again, away on the distant hill, opposite hers, looking back. It was shining bright.

 

 

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  Trudy wiped the tears from her face as the rubber blades wiped the rain from her windscreen. She had her car by means of escape, she’d always known someday it would be a lifeline. They would have found out by now; Claire and her conquest, coming back to check on the young lovers. It wouldn’t have been what she expected.

 

  She had to get out, flee to the distant hills, in search of her saviour. They used to drive up to the country together, alone in her car, looking down from high places, talking, talking. And then finally they would kiss - I love you. My beautiful, beautiful baby…

 

  She knew the way like following her heart. The same way her mind would always go back to one beautiful day. When she had to go back, she couldn’t stay, her mother would be cross. She hadn’t wanted to leave. But they had the rest of their lives together, they knew that. And as she got into her car she looked up - he was shouting from the window. True, I love you! ! I love you! And she shouted back, the same thing, louder. And ecstatically they shouted to one another, louder and louder, laughing at their childishness, on and on, until everyone could hear. She’d wanted to stay there forever, shouting, calling out his name, screaming with joy. But she’d had to go.

  It was her only home. She belonged there. And now she was going back, in floods of tears and rain. She had no other answer. She was his baby. And she’d fallen from the cradle.

  The little car always struggled up the hill as she came closer to his street. It felt as though the wind and rain were pushing her back, like the whole of nature. But she didn’t care. Not the car, not the wind, not the rain - she would walk, she would run, she would crawl against it. Nothing else mattered. No-one can help me except myself. I know. Accept it - accept myself.

  Then, as she turned the corner, the power changed and it felt as if the little car were being pulled up by a singular force, heaving it from the depths, fighting against the gravity of the world, and slowly it emerged, safe on the high ground. And then she saw the house. Just as it always had been. The gardens, the trees, the night-lights. Towering over a kingdom like a palace waiting to be stormed. And high up was a window, looking back upon a distant hill where there stood another house, with its window looking straight back, opposite his.

 

  And behind this window they were looking for her, wondering what had happened. They’d thought she was going to be all right, that she was going to get through it. Now it’s too late. They’d tried to help her, tried to talk to her, they thought she understood. But they had no other answer. Now she needed help, more than ever, more than they could give her. Something has to happen, something has to be done. She has no-one to turn to. It’s all right. We can help her. She’ll be all right.

 

  It was just the way it always was. She stood outside, looking up, the rain cleansing her tear-stained skin. The light had been turned off, he was probably asleep; where she used to lay, with him, together, listening to the rain, looking through the window at the sky, talking. And now she was coming back. The way she used to: late at night, surprising him, when he thought she had gone. It was just the same, she couldn’t leave him. And he’d given her the key. There was nowhere else to go. Not anymore. I know.

  She crept up the stairs as if ready to jump out on him, or he’d catch her just in time like he used to - his baby, falling from her cradle. But everything was quiet. And for a moment she thought it was too late. Everything. All of it. For nothing. And it would be over for good - for bad, not better, but worse. But then it was the same again, just the way it always was. The low electric buzz from the kitchen, the light ticking hands of the silly hall clock, the tiny little noises of night which somehow made it alive, made it breathe - a sense of him, and a sense of her in him. A sense of her life that he’d lost.

 

  The door to his room was open and a light lit up inside her. But there was no light lit inside, he was gone. And the memory of that terrible day suddenly struck her again. She hadn’t let go, she knew it all along, she still had the note. She’d seen no light in his window, the light of her life was extinguished. Only the moonlight fell through the window across the room, illuminating her face in tragedy. She stood in the doorway, hesitating, like a child awoken from a dream that had cast her into sadness, afraid of disturbing her father again; the one who could make it all better.

 

  But from this dream she remembered nothing but lying next to Sam, holding him tight as though she’d never let go, and she’d pressed a kiss upon his cheek, like a seal on something precious, never to be broken. But when she awoke he was gone.

 

 

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She was lying perfectly still when they found her. The place had been like a shrine. Everything was as he’d left it on the day he’d left everything. No-one had been here since that day, it seemed, nothing had been disturbed. There was a sickening sense of waste as they crossed the threshold. Like a tomb of captured time. She must have been sitting in the window, looking out, though the pane was smashed as if battered by fists. She’d needed help. Something had to be done. But now it was too late.

  The people in the street below looked up to see what had happened. A brief, tell-tale splatter of blood on the glass. How sad it was, and how quickly they’d choose to forget - but with someone, somehow, somewhere, the memory would linger. But life carries on, you have to get through it, come through the smoke and haze of the past. Let the tears fall and the rain pour, cleanse the ground, wash it away, flowing through the gutter and down the drain. And sooner or later it’s all over. You’ll get through it. I know.

 

  Claire knew she would come back here. Trudy was too sensitive, too independent. She could never even bring herself to throw away the key. But love doesn’t last, she thought, I know. He’s gone, it’s over, he’s never coming back - that’s what she’d told her. But in Trudy -like the view from her window- he would never go away. She’d needed help, and she found no answer but this.

  This is what love is, thought Claire - saying goodbye. Like he did one day and never came back. No one knew why and no one knew where, but when she looked down at her body she knew Trudy was the answer.

  And clutched in her hands was a tiny little note.

　

“Bye-bye baby.

I loved you but loved you too much.

You loved me too much too

But too much love can kill you.”

　

　

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Reviews

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

Oh.. wow. This is an incredible story. that ghastly obsession of the young.. well. I guess it isn't just the young, everyone can be susceptible to that fatal emotion.

i have to say, i was moved by this. it is told with such a delicacy, yet.. yet there is real horror in this. not the bogeys in the night kind of horror, but the real thing. the kind that is all the worse, because it happens everyday: chews us up and spits us out unthinkingly.

astonishing story. can you tell i'm at a bit of a loss for words?
well done.. truly.

[TreeStar]

Incredibly brutal story. I think it really shows the fragility and power of the mind.

I think my favorite scene was this one:
"Then she thrust herself into him and into him, again and again in a violent action to the rhythm of her thoughts. It isn’t him, it isn’t him. It isn’t you! I love you, I love you, I love you! Then she felt him melt away like warm liquid on her hands… and he let go, slumping silently to the floor with a small deflated quiver."

I truly thought this guy was going to "save" her from herself... maybe there was nothing to save. I enjoyed this dark story. Your flawless writing talent never ceases to amaze ;)

[Ladysue]

wow, this was a truly sad story, but very well told. I agree that is was slightly confusing in POV at one point, but not terribly as it didn't take away from the story. You really have an in depth insight to the mind of this character and I think you did an excellent job with character development. Very powerfully written and quite engaging. Very good story telling...

[ashley]

This is really good. Tragic. I liked the story.
A couple of things, though:

Your speaker attributions need to be fixed. You use replied, answered, queried, pleaded, explained... all are frowned on by editors. They say to use "said" as much as possible. Your reader should understand from the words spoken what you intended without you having to explain. It's like saying, "That's not fair!" she shouted. It's redundant. When in doubt, stick to said.

You also switched from POVs a lot, so much so that it was very confusing. Sometimes it was done in the same paragraph and I had to keep back tracking to understand who was thinking what.

There are a few other small things, but those are the two that stuck out to me. This is a great story, it just needs a little tweaking. Great job!