In Another Life

Chapter One (???)

She had been my best friend since we were in diapers. She was the angel with a drenched shoulder who blessed me and raised me to sing praises when I couldn't do it myself and she was the one who made birds sing and bunnies play with her mere presence. She was never seen without her iconic effervescent smile. She was the flickering flame of a candle, sparks violently dancing in the air, extinguishing the thick blanket of darkness enveloping it. She was my light. My everything.

Maybe I was a fool. Maybe I was a fool when I pretended not to notice her shrunken eyes or her shaking hands. Maybe I was an idiot when I decided to ignore her warm choice of clothing for summer or her empty smile. Maybe I was selfish when I decided that her flinching and her exhaustion wasn't as important as everyone else's happiness. I know that I was definitely a sorry excuse of a friend when I chose to ignore her disappearance, lying to myself that she would be okay even when deep down, I knew what a damn lie that was. Somehow, I thought that if I could deceive myself, it would be true. The truth was that while her flame still burned brighter than the cosmos, it slowly melted her away. It drained her until she was nothing more but a lumpy pile of wax, unable to burn and unable to smile beyond her broken parts. With every new burst of energy, she shone brighter for us. She burned faster for us.

The night I drove to her apartment, I had done so grumbling and complaining, wishing that she had texted me at least once in the last week. I wasn't clingy. I wasn't. I was just used to her texting me at least twice a day. When she didn't answer the door, I wanted to believe it was all some horrid prank by some girl who was pretending to be my friend my whole life before ghosting me, but I knew that wasn't the case. She was always a huge bookworm and she'd make the most pointless references that no one would understand, so I could only pray that she had been kept isolated from society by a couple compelling novels.

I had already called her husband who had hung up within the first ten seconds of my half concerned rambling. He had never been a nice guy, so it didn't surprise me when I initially found out about her hidden apartment that she'd run off to every once in a while. However, to no one's surprise, she'd always return, apologies spilling out of her mouth. She was always a sucker for him.

When I'd bring up how much of an asshole he was, she'd scoff at me, noting that I was just jealous that she could get a husband and I couldn't. I was not. In my very valid opinion, she was too young to even be married. When I tried to deny my jealousy, she'd jokingly question if in actuality I was in love with her. She'd laugh and call me 'Snape' which I despised.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I tried rattling the door knob and to my unpleasant surprise the door swung right open and I was immediately hit with a vile odour. A sort of mix between spoilt milk and fermenting garbage in the summer heat, only a lot more intense. A lot, lot more. It took all my willpower not to bend over and throw up all over the dust covered floors.

Gagging, I continued my way through the small studio apartment, forcing myself to ignore the sense of dread rapidly accumulating into my trembling body. The pungent smell seemed to waft from her slightly open bedroom.

I slowly pushed the door open.

I fell backwards, my stomach churning as bits and pieces of the repulsive scene swarmed around me, blurring my vision and dominating through my thoughts and memories. I choked on a distraught scream and froze in appalled horror as I pleaded with my body to move, to get help, to just get away. But I couldn't move. I couldn't leave her.

Her pale body was mangled, her limbs bent in ways that shouldn't be possible. Her bloodshot eyes stared at me, forever unseeing and the overflowing foam in her gaping mouth was tinted with a vivid scarlet. The dent in her skull was deep and rounded, splatters of a dark crimson surrounding it and maybe this had been the final blow that killed her, squirting contents out of her nose to make room for the dent - I didn't want to think about what those contents were. A disgusting piece of muscle lay half a metre from her face and that was when I noticed the giant gaping hole in her chest. I couldn't resist the temptation to puke any longer. The smell of today's breakfast only added to the lingering stench. I remember when she'd press my hand against her chest, instructing me to feel it as she tried to catch her breath from a long run. I remember going bright red - almost as red as the scene before me. Had it still been beating rapidly as it was torn out of her body or had she already been long gone? There was a blood trail - she had evidently dragged herself across the room in anguish, willing her body into motion, refusing to die. Had she known that it would've all been in vain or had she truly believed that she could make it out alive? I couldn't tear my eyes away from the gruesome sight although everything in my body was screaming for me to. It somehow just felt wrong to turn away. It felt like I would be refusing to acknowledge her. Somehow just the thought of what could have gone down was much worse than actually knowing. Did she die alone, withering in pain and drowning in her own blood? Or had the perpetrator smirked menacingly down at her, admiring their handiwork? Maybe she had died instantly, I prayed that was the case.

Someone else's darkness had engulfed her flame.