Tears of the Unwritten

Chapter 1

As the clock chimed twelve, a hush fell, thick and heavy as velvet. In that womb of midnight, I layed silently, looking upon pages of unspoken pride and sorrow. My gaze flew from one word to the other, my fingers tracing the ink lines in the process.

   “It was then that Augustus realised that it was him. He was the real villain in Sarah’s story. Not Francis, but him. The torment was fascinating, and he couldn’t even perceive how and when a laugh escaped his lips, acceptance had hit him like a cold ocean wave in mid-winter, and he fully enjoyed it. All the sins he had committed in her pursuit, every whispered deception had woven a tapestry of ruin and wreckage that looked upon him with such clarity that it was sickening and he pridefully accepted it.
   He stood amidst the biting spring wind, a sinister smile gracing his countenance as he faced the six men arrayed before him. The rifles they held seemed to shimmer in the dim light, their cold steel, a stark contrast to the warmth Augustus felt around himself. His eyes danced around at them, meeting their detached gazes one-by-one.
   They silently took their positions as in the distance the clock tower sounded. Augustus smiled again. This time, it was genuine. One, he hadn’t smiled in a long, long time.
   A lone owl hooted in the distance, its call swallowed by the vast expanse of night. Then, it came: a single, discordant crack that shattered all the tranquillity that Augustus had immersed himself in. The first rifle shot, a violent cough that ripped through the stillness he had learned to appreciate. But it was too late now.
   It wasn’t till late afternoon the other day when the town of Walshire was made known to the fate of their beloved Duke. Carried on the backs of ravens or whispered in the wind, it didn’t matter any longer. No one cared anymore for what happened to the lad.
  Sarah found out most instantly. How could she not? It was plastered all over on the front page of the morning news.
   The news travelled from skittish merchants to farmers in the northest parts of Elardia.
   The long awaited demise of their dearest Prince had finally come. It was surely to be celebrated. How else would the King feast upon the death of his darling nephew.”

   ‘No.’ A single word escaped my lips. ‘This can’t be happening.’ I cried . ‘This can’t happen to him! She can’t do this to him!’ Tears streamed down my face as I sat in my own silent demise. The world dissolved into a blur. I couldn’t understand why, why she had been so cruel to him. I stumbled around in search of my phone, the others, surely there ⁰ others who share my sorrow.
   But the words on the wretched screen shattered any hope of solace. Each message I read only deepened my despair.
   “Finally! After two entire books, Augustus has finally stopped haunting us! A thousand thanks to the lovely author, can’t wait to see Francis and Sarah start anew in book number 4.” - Peachofthevallies44 wrote.
   “Goodbye Auggie boo, wish I could say it was nice knowin’ ya, but it wasn’t!” - Silentlilly903 commented.
    My heart shattered into a million billion pieces. How could they be so callous? How? How could they talk about Augustus, my Augustus, so cruelly? It felt as if my personal grief had been trivialised, reduced to a mere footnote. I sank back into my blanket and buried my face inside of my pillow. I could do nothing but weep in the dark, my sobs echoing through the empty room. The world outside continued on, indifferent to my pain, while inside, I clung to the memory of a character who had meant so much to me, now lost in a narrative that seemed to mock my very existence.
   ‘Please,’ I mumbled. ‘Please God, please, anyone listening.’ I cried. ‘Let Augustus live.’ Just like that, I begged for the existence of a character that never ever existed outside the confines of letters and words and sentences.