˝The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me...˝

A Story by burnhouse

I press my finger to her lips. They’re still warm and I’m scared of the thought of them becoming as cold as this night that cursed us; that removed my only will to live. I will never hear the sweet sound of my name, or that funny song she used to sing when we were just two careless children, on those poor, chapped, yet so soft lips. My eyes are avoiding to look away from her face, I’m avoiding it. I know that, if I look down her body, I’ll spot a red mess that the bullet made. I’m avoiding looking right into her eyes as well. Big olive eyes aren’t shiny at all; they’re somehow fogy and seem lost. However, I gently close them with my other hand. It looks like she’s just in the land where dreams are. I hope she is. I hope there’s Heaven for her. If anyone deserves eternal peace, it’s her, and that thought woke me up to realize where I actually am. I’m in Hell. Everything around me is blood-red and smoky-gray at the same time. People turned the dream, which is Earth meant to be, into a nightmare. My heart aches with my awareness that I’m one of these people. How it didn’t feel this wrong until now? I burry my shameful face in my hands full of dirt and I kneel down beside the lifeless body of the one I truly loved. I try hard not to cry. I mustn’t. I can hold it in no more. One of the tears manage to escape no matter how hard I’m trying to keep it trapped; how hard I’m trying to swallow the sadness and pain. I’m hiding my face like it will make me invisible, like the world will go away if I count to ten, like she will wake up when I remove my hands to look and acknowledge the fact I’m not alone here. None of this will or could happen, yet I’m still hiding, though I’m not alone at all. The sounds I hear disgust me: shooting, abusing, grenades... I suddenly see the true cruelness of that.

One more sound appears; the sound of steps coming closer. Someone’s walking toward me. My head instinctively turns to look who the newcomer is. I know these sad eyes. I identify the harsh and strong figure. It’s General Abend, not any less bloodier than I am, not any cleaner. He’s hugging his old shotgun and watching me carefully. He is a friend? I remember all these times we joked around, when he told me how I was one brave young man and a brilliant soldier. I remember how protective he was over me like a father, ever since I’ve got in the military. Yes, he is a friend and much more than that: a teacher and a father. So I look into his eyes and squeeze my love’s cold hand. I want to look tough but I break.

‘Help’, I gasp. It’s hard to speak. It’s even hard to breathe. There is no chance of holding my tears in anymore. However, the man’s face doesn’t change at all. No signs of sympathy, no signs of care. In fact, I can see something I could never expect from him: hate. ‘Help, help, help!’ I say few more times in surprise, fear and all the awful emotions what come with that; like it would make any difference. He slowly points his shotgun at me and I freeze. It was like the God pressed pause on the movie of my life; which was coming to end.

There was one thing I’ve heard clearly just before the fatal ‘bang’, a simple word filled with retch: ‘Traitor.’

© 2013 burnhouse

Author's Note

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Maxine

This is really really good :) It's so sad and yet has this undercurrent of total true love and I think you captured that beautifully!! It's really interesting, are you considering doing more with it or is it just as short story? :)