Ink 2

This is a poem/story representing the stages of grief represented by the male character. Please let me know what you think! Thank you! x

I’m in love with a devil. We met on a fateful evening where the sun was blistering yet the morning before was chilling. He’d said he had problems, born with many minds. I didn’t believe him but nor could I pull away from the arms of thorns. My skin prickled as those poison filled pools looked to mix and contaminate me and I would be his, chanting for life. He hold me he couldn’t believe in us and I was quick to agree for it is true. His look was poor and pitiful as he cradled my hand, gentle as a newborn. I wouldn’t see him again after that night.

But he was sure to return, as casually as he came. He calls with a rap of my door. His shadow filled his eyes as his face bore an intimacy that suddenly grabbed me, forcing my body to tremble and collapse. His voice groaned, “Why?!” and “Dont! Please!” My companion would rush to my side but it would no longer be any use, he was there first. A claim. A fusing, a bondage. I tried to find sleep that night but it was no more than a senseless routine.

After a time recovering, I had a sense of peace, it was hesitant to me for it knew not of me. He left several calls and the receiver rested and breathed into my hand, prepared to speak. The messages contained him in a more calm tone, his voice slender. “If we had met earlier...said I love you..” and “could I have done this to save us?” this was the summary. My heart squeezed and sank but it could not prevent the day he’d yearn to purge any life left in him. He was drowning, lungs filled but he’d try. Try to breathe life once again. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, even see me. I’d try to, yet with my regret it was over. Lifeless body still turned to his receiver. The last voicemail remains and I continue to ponder on it every now and then. His voice rang with a peculiar purity, “Expose yourself to your deepest fear. After that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.” I am more certain he was right the first time. All those various minds were a part of him. And they were a part of me too. And would never leave.

Author's Note

I do not take credit at all for the quote at the end.

Reviews

[Robert Parlange]

Good narrative flow. The imagery was excellent. I liked the opening line. It was a good hook and made the theme of the story evident.

You are a good writer. Keep writing.