The Knife's Case

The Frail Moments

Koran, knowing I said it, says, "You are right. You know, I used to think death was better than life." I am again surprised, "What do you mean?" I ask. "There was a time I wanted to die." I gasp. I never expected him, of all people to be sad. "There was a time when I was lonely. I still am, only less." He adds. "Really?" I am shocked. "Being rich is lonely. The places are big, but the love is small." He explains. "Love?" I wonder what true love is. "I didn't know what love was." He says. I ask, "How did you find out?" "I read books." He answers. "I write." I say. "What do you write about?" He asks. I stop, "Uh, my life." I make my answer brief and short to avoid further questions. But that doesn't stop him, "If you do not mind, may I read it when you are finished?" He asks. "I mind." I say immediately. He grins, "You fell for it," I furrow my eyebrows, "What do you mean?" He laughs, "If you are writing a story about your life, you must wait until your life is ending." He says it as if we will live forever. "Although, you could write only a portion of your life." He says. It pains me to hear him say inclinations like that. It reminds me that I am going to end my life, instead of let my life end me. "You shouldn't make such jokes, you know it's not very funny." I say stubbornly. When he sees I am hurting, he stops, "I am sorry. I only wanted to make you laugh." He says. My mind stumbles on his concerned, unable to avoid the sweetness in his voice. I say nothing for a while. And we marvel at the beauty of the flowers. I am looking away from him, afraid of seeing the expression on his face. I know I would give into smiling.

Until, I see a blue flower in front of me. He says, "Here you go. For you, I think that if I can't make you laugh, I will try to make you smile." He looks so hopeful. I smile, but then I feel my eyes tearing. I try to keep smiling, but the sides of my lips begin to quiver. I turn away from him. I am still. Then, I feel his arms beginning to wrap around me. My eyes are wide. I duck, slipping through his arms. I crouch down among the flowers that are so tall they almost hide me. I cannot let myself fall. But as I fall to the ground, tears begin to roll down my cheeks. Now they are drenching my face, and dripping onto my dress. I curl up, and cry. My mind clears, like it does whenever I brake.

Nothing. I feel nothing. The pain hurts so badly, I feel nothing. I am nothing. Nothing for lying to someone who doesn't deserve death. Lying to myself, and lying so good, I almost believe myself. I open my eyes. In front of me, I see the prince. His hands are holding my shoulders up, and he looks worried. His mouth is moving, but I am not yet ready to hear it. "Ingrid, look at me, you are alright?" He asks, I can feel the pain in his voice. We have an understanding. We have a similarity. "Sorry. For worrying you." I say, trying to calm him. "I'm fine." I say. He looks relieved when I say I am fine. I am glad to see that, but at the same time, I wish he didn't care about me. If he didn't, it would make this a lot easier. It is afternoon when we ride back. My eyes are dry. He is talking, about what he usually does. I laugh as I hear him talk about funny things. But now, my smile quickly dazes into a straight face. I look at him, sadly. He rambles on, as he is in one of his talkative moods. I think about this moment for long time. I slow it, examining each part of it. And just for a moment, this feels natural. It feels like I have lived like this forever, and I will keep on living like this forever.

Never, though. I snap out of the moment and catch myself up to normal time. It could never happen, it never will. I put my head down. "Are you alright, Ingred?" His voice peaces through the background, to me. It seems he has snapped out of his talkative mood. "I'm fine." I say unconvincingly. When I see his face, I know he does not believe me. Then there it is, that worried look on his face. I don't know why, but I long to forever wipe it off his face, and never have to make him worry. I shake my head, and wipe the idea out of my head.

We continue in silence the whole way to my house. Not awkward silence, not peaceful silence, or sad silence. It is depressing. I find myself pondering on all the past events of my life. I rest my eyes, and lean my head on his shoulder. I feel his head turn down to mine, when I do that, as if going to lean his head on mind. I put my head up, quickly and turn myself away from him. I lean my head on the side of the carriage, and curl up. The silence continues, like an unwavering shadow above us. We get to the front of my house. I get out of the carriage, thank him, and he thanks me, as custom demands. It feels cold between us. I say goodbye as his carriage rides away. He turns his head, though, as the carriage rides away. I see him say something, but I do not hear it. His face finally shows expression, though. And as I realize I am home, I do not know if that is good or bad.