Among The Lavender

 

He is dead.

 

I walked through the field of lavender, rain pouring down my skin like tears. But my eyes were dry.

 

He is dead.

 

I hadn’t bothered with shoes and the mud squelched under my feet and between my toes.

 

He is dead.

 

I wore nothing but a thin cream dress, but I didn’t shiver, even as the cold bit my skin.

 

He is dead.

 

My fingers ran through the lavender heads as they bobbed under the heavy raindrops.

 

He is dead.

 

I heard something behind me but I didn’t turn, I didn’t care.

 

He is dead.

 

I saw something move up beside me but I was too weary to turn my head.

 

He is dead.

 

Lightning cracked the black clouds above me, the thunder barely a second behind.

 

He is dead.

 

A dark clothed figure stepped out in front of me.

 

He is dead.

 

His skin was like snow, his eyes black.

 

He is dead.

 

His dark hair fluttered softly in the wind, unaffected by the rain.

 

He is dead.

 

He reached toward me, his cold blue lips parting.

 

He is dead.

 

His eyes were hungry as he took hold of my wrist.

 

He is dead.

 

I didn’t move, mesmerized by his glowing face. He put his lips to my wrist.

 

He is dead.

 

He seemed to breathe in deeply, tasting my scent.

 

He is dead.

 

His lips moved to my neck, white teeth glistening.

 

He is dead.

 

I gasped, my breath catching.

 

He is dead.

 

His teeth pierced the skin.

 

He is dead.

 

Blood poured from my throat.

 

He is dead.

 

It ran down my neck and body, staining my dress with crimson rivers.

 

He is dead.

 

I let him catch me as I fell, blacking out

 

He is dead.

 

 

 

My skin is white as snow, my eyes black, my lips cold blue. He holds my hand in his, as we walk among the lavender.

 

We are dead.