Goodbye, John. From Mom, Dad, Shane, Ross, Sophie and your unborn niece or nephew, all the doctors nurses, Nana Margaret, Uncle Robert, Auntie Sue and probably most of all, Kennedy. Hope it's not raining where you are now.
Truly loving someone is watching them die,
but you don't dare say goodbye.
This won't end with the last breath I breathe;
your heart will always belong to me.
So as I go, when I pass,
I'll be in your arms' warm grasp.
And as my eyes slip closed
Say those words that never grow old.
And even though you may not hear
My heart is forever yours, I whisper in your ear.
I'll seal this vow with one more kiss
before I fall into Death's bitter sweet bliss.
"It's a beautiful poem," the lonely man says, clutching the newspaper in his long-fingered hand as he stares down at the freshly-dug grave. "Just like you." He pauses, his resolve faltering just a little.
The black-clothed figures have long since departed the cemetery, leaving just the man by himself.
"Oh, John," he sighs heavily. "Everything's gone wrong, John. I can't stop trying to find you in other people. I need to find you in other people. Nobody's as perfect as you. Mara asked me out last week and I just... I just can't do it anymore, John. You promised me you wouldn't leave me!"
The picture in the newspaper stares back at the man somewhat dolefully, reprovingly as if telling him off for yelling in a cemetery. The man's breath quickens, frosting in front of his face and pinching his nose until the tip turns pink. A red twinge is present on his cheeks, and unruly brown tresses fall into his hazel eyes. He stumbles backward, as if being pulled by someone from behind. A smile slides onto his face as he collides with a tree and stops, breathing hard, tears running gently down his smooth cheeks. His head falls back against the tree, hair matted against the rough bark.
"Johnny," he giggles, batting away the air around his midriff. "Johnny, stop it... stop tickling me... John, I-" the smile slides from his face as he reaches in his pocket. His hand appears in front of his face, clutching something sharp and silver; it glints in the sunlight. "Not today, John. But soon... soon I will be with you forever, my love. Just like Romeo and Juliet, yeah? See, you and me were meant to be together. You see this picture, huh?" He jabs at the newspaper with his index finger. "Can you see me? Half of me, stuck in the background. That's fate... you and me, against the world, John O'Callaghan, and this time, we won't have death in the way to stop us."
A manic cackle splits through the cold November air as Kennedy Brock sinks to the floor, clutching the knife close to his chest and praying for rain.
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Time To Go
FanfictionConceived. Carried. Born. Nursed. Grown. Taught. Given. Taken. Dead. John O'Callaghan knows he is going to die. He even calculated the seconds it is until he breathes his last breath. But what he can't quite get his head around is the way that stran...
