Torn Souls

27. Moribund

HYACINTHUS- Aidoneus

If I die, surely I'll become a ghost. And I'll be in the afterlife. And I'll be with Dream. Surely, that's how it works. It couldn't be more complicated than that.

Although, I don't know what the after life is like. Maybe tall cream colored pillars with gold flakes mixed in surrounded by fluffy indicolite clouds. There we can live like Greek Gods, never to be torn apart.

Or maybe it burns red and orange and gold. Maybe it's filled with fire and darkness with overbearing heat. But that's alright too. Because i find fire quite magnificent and mesmerizing. If we don't live like the Greek Gods, then we'll fight the fires of Hell together.

But i don't think i can live on much longer. Not when you aren't here. Not when you only live in my brain, not when all of my thoughts are comprised of you and only you.

George tried so hard. He wanted to believe he would be okay. He didn't want to accept the inevitable fact he wouldn't be okay. He didn't have anyone to miss him anymore. He had no reason left to live. He was left feeling even more lost than before Dream came. For the first time in two days, he stretched his legs, forcing them to move and carry his weight. For the last time, his honey colored eyes Dream had gotten stuck in gazed at the apartment. The paintings and trinkets and lights they had decorated his place with filled happy memories with salty tears. Fake vines draped from the ceiling, reaching down as if to say goodbye. He looked around one last time before shutting the bathroom door behind him. The bright orange pill bottle felt heavy in his hand as his back slid down the wall until he was on the floor.

He called out loud, to someone who wasn't there. In hopes they would maybe come back. The hurt in his heart voiced the pain through his voice. The voice was sore. It had spoken for too long. The pills he poured down his throat didn't help. The empty bottle rattled a hollow sorrowful song as it hit the floor beside George. The voice, raspy and full of tears, continued to carry his words. He felt as if he would dissolve in the hot drops that streamed down his face the same way the pills in his stomach were.

Pills weren't an immediate death. They wouldn't take a few seconds nor a few minutes. But a few hours. A few hours of contemplating if he had done what was right, if all of this was actually said and done and over with. A few more hours, and he wouldn't wake up ever again. His journal of pain filled poems and passages laid beside him on the cold, white tile floor of the bathroom. It called out to him, for his dejected thoughts to be written down for the last time. He turned the tattered and ripped yellowing pages, each turn resonating a crisp whisper of age. His fingers inched for the almost empty pen which would write for the second to last time.

He read each haiku, each poem, each couplet with care. He knew it would be the last time he proof read his works. With each word, he grew dizzy. He understood his own feelings less and less feeling lost in the ways he once felt. The pages stopped turning and left him to a blank canvas ready to be painted by his words. He could only wish he had finished the dozens of blank pages behind it.

I wish I could write more. But there is just simply nothing left. If you see me, if you see this I want you to know, you were better than the moon. You were my own personal moon. You kept me company. You made me happy. Unfortunately, the moon isn't always there. But no matter how long you left, you were my moon.

The room felt like a spinning tea cup ride at Disney. Except his prince wouldn't come to save him. An overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over him. The journal slipped from his clammy and cold hands and hit the floor with a hard thud. The pen resided in the spine of the disregarded book, it had enough ink for a single sentence. A second pen appeared, this time it was blurry and seemingly unreal. And a second book... a second bottle... his eyes pinched shut, his vision doubled. He felt anxious, like he had no control over himself. His eyes were like dams; only they couldn't keep the river of tears back.

His eyes opened slowly, everything seemed to stop. He was still breathing, still alive, but so extremely tired.

When will it end?

He saw a figure before him, his eyes too clouded with water to see clearly. "I'm- I'm so sorry."

The figure just smiled. George just simply thought it was a hallucination, that the pills were in full effect, and this was his final dream. "You tried your best. I'm proud of you." The figure reassured him. George's mind was just telling him things he had craved his whole life to hear.

Stars slowly became more apparent. Constellations covered the old water-stained ceiling. "Look, I think we're meant to be. It's like- basically written in the stars!" George smiled. "I'll be with you soon." He closed his eyes as he muttered, even if it was just a hallucination, "I love you." His mouth fell silent, the words stopped coming, just as his heart slowed. He felt dizzy and sick, the room spinning faster and faster before completely going dark. Everything finally came to a stop. Like when you've finally turned off the dripping faucet, leaving nothing but the relieving silence.

It wasn't a hallucination. He wasn't a hallucination.

Dream crouched before him, taking George into his arms for the last time. He watched as his eyes remained shut. He watched as the color drained from his once perfectly blushed face. He watched as his lips went pale and thin, a contrast from his normally full, luscious, pink ones. He watched as he felt his body grow limp in his arms. Dream watched the boy he loved so dearly fade away to a corpse before him. Just as George had once watched Dream fade away to nothing before him.

He felt his heart beat slow, but not stop. "George, I- I'm moving on. From the afterlife. I finished what I needed to, technically." He lost the fight with the tear that trickled down his cheek. "You kept asking what the white roses meant. A rose, for beauty and love. The color white, for innocence and surrenderance." Dream didn't want to believe it was the last goodbye. They were soulmates. Soulmates who weren't meant to be. He felt his lovers heart finally stop.

His dimmed olive green eyes caught glimpse of the journal on the floor. Its spine was well worn, but still had pages left to fill. Dream wondered how it would feel if it knew it would never be finished. His hand reached over to pick it up, still cradling the body of his lover. On the page, was the very last thing George had written.

You were my moon.

Another tear rushed down from his melancholy eyes. It fell to the paper leaving a permanent stain of heartbreak and pain. The memories of everything they had been through came gushing in. The moment he appeared in this apartment, at the train station where George's eyes filled with hope and a strange, negligent kind of fear. And the way he saw the universe in his eyes the night they went stargazing. Dream sworn it was stuck in them sense. His trembling hands picked up the pen to write just below,

And you were my universe.

Dream pushed the few fallen hairs out of George's eyes before placing the last rose behind his ear. Unfortunately, only Dream had known George's soul was now forever at rest, they would not reunite. In this life time or the next. The last few drops of ink ran dry as he dotted the end of the sentence.If only George knew you simply cannot rearrange the stars so they align. But it was too late now, they were both gone.