Bad Luck
0
Jericho Antares
FAKKU Writer
10 minute free-writing exercise, so apologies if it's erratic.
I loved her. It's easy to say now because I lost her, but I loved her. Our lips never met and we rarely hugged, but we loved each other. She told me as much, and I couldn't say the same back then.
I didn't understand back then.
I thought love was the kind of thing you saw coming, that you work for and cry for and wear your emotions on your sleeve for. I thought love took effort. This didn't though. It was so profoundly simple that I couldn't understand what the tightness in my chest was when I smelled the lingering scent of her subtle perfume. Maybe it was the rare perfect love.
An effortless love.
I spent more time at her house than I did at my own, doing everything with her. We ate together, watched the sun set behind the tall pine trees on the deck behind her house, and walked down the gravel path from her house to the highway. Small things. Little things. The kind of things that bred a love that didn't need kisses or hugs. The kind of love that is created when two existences harmonize. Discord soon disrupted that harmony.
Discord. Timing. Luck. These things define me now.
The last I saw of her she was smiling. Her thin lips turned upwards in a small smile of relief.
She was shot. Shot by her father. Her two sisters, her mother, her dog. He shot all of them. I shot him. Justice? Hardly.
I can't hate him. He was still trapped in Vietnam.
Her sisters and mom I didn't want to see, their corpses in the basement. She tried to get away.
She was always strong.
He caught her in the stomach. I got there at the usual time to find her on the gravel path outside, her life ebbing away. Her skin looked like alabaster and her hands shook as the crimson pool around her stained the rocks below. she only asked me one thing.
"Josh?"
I said I was there for her. She smiled. Then she departed. I was desolated and at the same time full of a whirlwind of emotions. I was full to bursting.
I was empty.
Having hunted with her dad before, I took the .22 rifle I kept in my trunk out and went in. No fear shook my resolve. Nothing could.
Inside I found a broken man with a service pistol to his temple, the slide locked back. He relentlessly pulled the trigger to no avail. He wanted to end his life.
I obliged him.
It didn't take more than 5 minutes. Now it's been 24 days. 24 days since I cradled that beautiful face and felt warm blood soaking into her auburn hair. 24 days since a hand-knit cream cardigan turned red. 24 days since I became a murderer. Those 5 minutes have defined my life. They ended hers.
For 24 days I've analyzed 5 minutes, and I've finally reached my conclusion: effortless love is lost effortlessly. I didn't realize what was in front of me, and so it was taken away.
Suicide isn't an option, it's an insult to her. She was felled by bad luck. I can't do the same. My soul carries a piece of her own now. So long as I live she can too. I can't let the same thing exterminate her twice.
It'll take more than bad luck just to kill me.
I loved her. It's easy to say now because I lost her, but I loved her. Our lips never met and we rarely hugged, but we loved each other. She told me as much, and I couldn't say the same back then.
I didn't understand back then.
I thought love was the kind of thing you saw coming, that you work for and cry for and wear your emotions on your sleeve for. I thought love took effort. This didn't though. It was so profoundly simple that I couldn't understand what the tightness in my chest was when I smelled the lingering scent of her subtle perfume. Maybe it was the rare perfect love.
An effortless love.
I spent more time at her house than I did at my own, doing everything with her. We ate together, watched the sun set behind the tall pine trees on the deck behind her house, and walked down the gravel path from her house to the highway. Small things. Little things. The kind of things that bred a love that didn't need kisses or hugs. The kind of love that is created when two existences harmonize. Discord soon disrupted that harmony.
Discord. Timing. Luck. These things define me now.
The last I saw of her she was smiling. Her thin lips turned upwards in a small smile of relief.
She was shot. Shot by her father. Her two sisters, her mother, her dog. He shot all of them. I shot him. Justice? Hardly.
I can't hate him. He was still trapped in Vietnam.
Her sisters and mom I didn't want to see, their corpses in the basement. She tried to get away.
She was always strong.
He caught her in the stomach. I got there at the usual time to find her on the gravel path outside, her life ebbing away. Her skin looked like alabaster and her hands shook as the crimson pool around her stained the rocks below. she only asked me one thing.
"Josh?"
I said I was there for her. She smiled. Then she departed. I was desolated and at the same time full of a whirlwind of emotions. I was full to bursting.
I was empty.
Having hunted with her dad before, I took the .22 rifle I kept in my trunk out and went in. No fear shook my resolve. Nothing could.
Inside I found a broken man with a service pistol to his temple, the slide locked back. He relentlessly pulled the trigger to no avail. He wanted to end his life.
I obliged him.
It didn't take more than 5 minutes. Now it's been 24 days. 24 days since I cradled that beautiful face and felt warm blood soaking into her auburn hair. 24 days since a hand-knit cream cardigan turned red. 24 days since I became a murderer. Those 5 minutes have defined my life. They ended hers.
For 24 days I've analyzed 5 minutes, and I've finally reached my conclusion: effortless love is lost effortlessly. I didn't realize what was in front of me, and so it was taken away.
Suicide isn't an option, it's an insult to her. She was felled by bad luck. I can't do the same. My soul carries a piece of her own now. So long as I live she can too. I can't let the same thing exterminate her twice.
It'll take more than bad luck just to kill me.
0
Xenon
FAKKU Writer
For ten minutes, this is rather well written and complete. I just think you may have meant to have said "hand-knit cream cardigan." A little choppy, but it's easy to follow because of that and the story keeps its appeal. I find a few specifics of the story quite intriguing, such as the claim "effortless love is lost effortlessly." With respect to the story, that kind of moment sticks. Again, for 10 minutes, this is highly impressive, regardless of the melancholy of not getting to keep that which is precious. Thus is life, however, and his ending resolve is the greatest and most optimistic option available.
