I Will Follow You Into The Dark

True Story. I'm seeing a therapist. Haha.

     Sometimes, in the midst of a particularly nonsensical mood, I will call into question the “random" nature of iTunes' Shuffle, due to its seemingly cosmic ability to provide the most damaging songs at your most vulnerable points. For instance, as I sat on my bed, barely registering the music in the background, staring into my own imaginary oblivion, Shuffle in its apparently sadistic omniscience, decided it would be a good time for Death Cab for Cutie’s “I Will Follow You Into The Dark.” Upon its beginning, I became suddenly, startlingly aware of the music which I had been well ignoring for the past hour. I wish I could say that my oblivion drifted away on its own, but it would be a blatant lie. My psyche saw its opportunity, and refused to let it slip. My oblivion is violently thrust aside, and in its wake lay a stage, blank, to do with as I like. The possibilities are endless, but arbitrary. I know where my mind plans for this to go before it’s even begun.
      I watch as my set unfolds before me. An all-too familiar scene �" one that’s made many a cameo in my regularly demented, nightmare-esque dreams and daydreams.
     A funeral. Your funeral. You died so young… Always, so young, so tragic.
     As I stand before them at a pale wooden podium, my audience shows itself to me. All of your friends, and family; a sea of faces, though so few are actually discernible. The clearest is your mother, sitting in the front row, just feet from me. Next to her is the only one whom I believe has ever loved you like I did. My own mother is in the back, barely visible, but her face shows the vicarious pain of a parent whose child is suffering. Your mother’s expression, looking to me, is that of the somber affection of shared loss. The one next to her sees right through me. Somehow, she knows what I am about to do; maybe because she’s considered it herself. Nevertheless, she despises me for it, though she would never dream of stopping me. She scowls, silently, as her eyes scream to me that she will never forgive me for this.
   I glance to my right as your open casket takes shape. My eyes stay only long enough to note that the black suit is oddly fitting for you. They make a point to avoid your face. I have to maintain some composure, after all. I turn back, quickly, to the mourning mass, just in time for the vocals to begin. “Love of mine…” I sit on my bed, mouthing the words as the song’s soft , sad melody fills my room. In my mind, I sing aloud to those in attendance. I sing to you. And in direct violation of everything I’ve ever believed about death, I know you can hear me.
      In both worlds, I begin to cry. Not because of your death, but because I know this song doesn’t really fit us, and you cannot imagine how badly I want it to. “It’s nothing to cry about, cause we’ll hold each other soon.” We don’t hold each other anymore. Lately I feel like I’m barely allowed to touch you at all. This line is the worst. This is where I lose what little composure I’d been trying so hard to maintain. I turn, this time to really look at you. Your suit and hair are pristine. Your face, flawless, as usual. So beautiful. Too beautiful, too young, too alive in my imagination to possibly be dead.
    I finish the last chorus. “…I will follow you into the dark.”
    The music stops. I pause. My eyes find themselves again attached to those whose persisting glare of disdain is barely tinted by the debilitating pain that I know she’s feeling too. But I’ve come too far, gotten too close for her judgment to stop me. This song is about comfort. It’s meant to soften the blow of impending death for the person who is to be dying, but I used it rather as a comfort for myself. The only way to cope with your death was to imagine that there was a way I could be with you again, to imagine that if I just died too, I wouldn’t have to go on without you. I’ve always believed that after death, there is nothing. But singing this, I've begun to convince myself that there’s more. I begin to convince myself that when I die, it will just be black emptiness, and you and me, drifting together through space forever… This is the only hope I have. But honestly, I don’t need it. Even nothing is so much more bearable than the idea of living without you.
         I take my headphones out. I say, out loud on my bed, to your indiscernible loved ones, “I’ve always needed an audience, and you have no idea how sorry I am for that fact.” It’s true. I should have done this days ago, on my own, but I need them to understand. I need everyone you cared about, as many people as possible, to understand my pain, to understand my motivation, why this was really the only choice. I continue speaking out loud to my walls, to my audience, “It really is selfish of me.” I feel the silent scream intensify from the only one who isn’t in the dark about my plans. I turn and look to your casket. “But I love you so much. And my love, I WILL follow you into the dark.”
        I have to move quickly before someone tries to stop me. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket. A revolver, circa the 1985 “Clue.” (Remember how we loved that movie? …No, I suppose you wouldn’t now, would you?) In one swift movement, I’ve stepped in front of your casket, placed the revolver against my right temple, and fired. I fall back on my bed, and for a split second, I swear, I get a glimpse of what nothing feels like. And it feels like relief.
       I sit up, performance complete, and gauge my audience’s reaction. Everyone is still in shock, motionless. I feel the expression of bewilderment emanate from every otherwise indecipherable face. All except one, of course, whose contempt has faded to indifference appearing to border on boredom. I turn around, and see myself laying on the floor in front of your casket, parallel to you. We match. How cute.
      With this final image, I am done. I’ve met my masochistic quota for the day. I step away from the podium, and leave my corpse to the mass which has finally reached the state of realization and consequent panic. And as I leave this world, one of many in which I’ve invented unthinkable tortures for myself, I should feel a genuine sadness for what has become of the latest me. But I don’t. I feel accomplished. I feel at peace. I died with you. And the further away I get from this world, and the clearer reality becomes, the more I realize that’s all I want to do.

Author's Note

For anyone who is not familiar, here are the lyrics:
Love of mine some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
And I held my tongue as she told me
"Son fear is the heart of love"
So I never went back

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

You and me have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down
The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
Cause we'll hold each other soon
The blackest of rooms

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
Then I'll follow you into the dark

Please be gentle? This is the first of my writing I've ever submitted for review, and it's not yet been edited, so I'm sure there's a lot that I still need to fix. And I think it gets kind of weak towards the end, thoughts? Thanks!

Reviews

[MOON]

Good write poignant well told and kept me reading.

[just is]

Well i enjoyed this. Kept me reading on.
Awesome job!