This Dark Is Mine

Flash fiction, first published in an online zine called Grim Graffiti.

This Dark is Mine

Martha J Allard

 

I wish I could read my past with my fingers, like Braille.  Could feel the shape of the exact moment that defines me.  I wish I could hold it in my hand, press it to my chest.  Would it burn still?  Would it fit into the ragged hole there, or has time smoothed the edges of the wound too much?

I’m told I’ve evolved, that I’m no longer thought of as the rock star who may or may not have shot his lover, my music has carried me beyond all that.  But it’s not true.  In the dark, I’m still deafened by the blast of the gun.

I was hungry and he gave me everything.  I had talent, he had money so it came easily.  He was hungry too.  He needed youth, energy, the fire I had back then but instead, I gave him what the young can give the old.  Regret?  No, he had plenty of that already.  I guess when I decided I was moving on; he only had one choice left.

The image is surreal in my memory.  He sat on the edge of the bed, a narrow, pale shadow against the cool dark of the sheets.  The gun in his hand looked like it was a part of him, like he’d always had it, and I just hadn’t noticed.  That was it.  He just held it.  Instead of being afraid, I felt disconnected to my body, like I was watching from a safe distance.  Stop being so dramatic, I told him.  You won’t die if I leave you. 

The smile he gave me in return was whip-thin, cruel in it’s honesty and desperation.  Kiss me, at least, he said, and I couldn’t refuse him.  I leaned down, turned his face up to me.  His lips were dry, like silk, his tongue seeking something inside me.  I closed my eyes, gasping, dizzied at the feeling of being consumed.  It smashed all thoughts of leaving.

The bullet broke us apart.  I felt the flash burn, heard nothing but my own voice, screaming inside my skull.  He fell away from me back against the bed, stain blossoming on his chest, black and ragged at the center, bright and glistening red as it spread. 

I stumbled, collapsed, my body trying to choke out the taste of gunpowder, blood, but it smeared over the whole world and there was nothing else for me.  From somewhere under the echo of my own pain, I heard his voice, soft, soothing.  He said, now you can never leave me.

And I haven’t.  No matter where I go, what I do, there’s still a part of me in that room in my head, dead with him. 

THE END

Reviews

[The Papermate Pen]

oh wow! this story, the imagery is made so real it was like im watching a clip on youtube!!! i didnt want it to end but wut choice do i have?! great write!