Guilt

The only love that she can ever believe in, she has to let go...

The weight of the shame was numbing. My head felt as though a herd of elephants had trampled through and left a trail of destruction in its wake. The ever growing icy air surrounded me like a sharp blanket; dozens of nail reaching out to lacerate my skin. The frosty ground of the park was now crisp and finely dusted with a layer of snow; even down to the occasional blemish where feet and paws had almost glided over the grass, only the odd marker to show their presence. 

            I reluctantly lifted my head and looked out on my own slice of tranquillity. An adolescent robin, displaying its bright red breast feathers, perched on a flimsy branch close to where I was slumped. He stretched his wings song and his paean song welcomed the dawn. His chorus was soon joined by other sopranos as they coaxed the morning sun to rise. My mood was almost lifted, but the intense circumstances caused my shoulders to cave even more; almost to the point where I curl in on myself like a hermit crab.

            Running my hands through my limp curls, I looked towards the little band on my finger; the golden weave not worn, the shine still persisting. I knew I had to do this for him, I just hoped I would see him again.

            The placid ice was now solid, reeds as rigid as soldiers; the coating of snow acting as their armour. Grass curled inwards, icicles hung from the weeping branches, forming crystal chandeliers. Light rebounded off, causing the carpeted path to become a dance floor, just missing the drunkard people to create a party.

            Memories started to flood my senses as I re-lived the start of this mess. I knew those last two drinks would ruin him. The screaming match in the car was the result; he shouldn’t have taken the money from the two doormen…

            At least that what I thought they were.

            Now all he does is sleep, machines helping him through every heartbeat and wheeze of breath. My hand found my hair again, and I couldn’t untangle the talons from my scalp. The memory of his shredded and mangled body, carved into my eyes. The smell of the antiseptic they doused on him as they started to operate. The everlasting sound of the beep which droned on, screaming at me that his heart had stopped. The final feeling of being alone still oppressing over me, even though I knew he was safe.

            The piercing ringing in my ears startled me back to the present. My hands mangled to declaw themselves from my head, only then to fumble with my ears, like trying to fiddle with a rickety, relic of a radio. It was then that I noticed the isolated feeling that suffocated me. The ruby red robin had scarpered, leaving no tune and a blank canvas. The chandeliers seemed to have worn and collected layers of dust, as the sun was ambushed by dismal. The trailing branches now seemed stiff, rigid as bones. A bitter blast wrapped its way around my shoulders, encasing me in a smothering embrace. I wasn’t alone. Not anymore…

            His eyes were deep black pits, no possible escape if you fell in. The tousled mane of brown invited you in with a false sense of security, but clinging onto you with a vice like grip. A heavy leather jacket adorned his shoulders, it was battered and torn, the elbow faint and patchy. His skin looked translucent and pasty; an aged and sick glow seemed to surround him. Not like the last time I had seen him, when he ran us off the road. A thick vine of mud wound its way over dark jeans; darker patches now crumbling away like ashes in the wind. His trainers were lost through the entwining roots.

            Around him animals seemed to cower away, plants retracting their blooms, the sun now seeking the convenient cover of the clouds, no longer resisting the mask. Tinted sunglasses covered most of his face, blocking out all emotion, allowing the stony expression to stay moulded to his face. With only a small flick of his head, the gesture made my hands gather as many of my belongings as I could.

            Stuffing my phone into my worn satchel, I slung it over my shoulder; the tight strap reminding me of a dog collar. I had become his puppet, only doing what he wanted and wished. Spinning on my heels, I looked at my last memory of pure beauty. I hung my head and made my way to his side. Making sure to keep my head bowed, I followed him like a puppy, accepting my fate.

Author's Note

This is for a assessment and any reviews would be lovely. Thanks for taking your time to read it.

Reviews

[Black Raven]

I love your style. It's very detailed

[Persona]

Your style is poetic, but that's not what works in a short story. Your words detract from the story and I don't get an idea of what's really going on. Simplify it. You can be a really good poet, but edit out all the unnecessary descriptions and words that don't contribute to the plot.

[ElyL]

Thank you for reviewing this and I am grateful that you have taken the time to read my work. This was for a GCSE coursework final piece project and I do agree that there was more to be worked on but I only had a short time fame to complete this in. It is now going to be the prologue to the rest of the story that I am writing soon, so sorry if it seems confusing. Thanks again xx