Garder mon Ame

Chapter Two: Quoth the Raven

A dream of hidden death,
Embedded in her flowers –
Dripping; drenched in nectar tears

Now the dream of dying soul;
Confined, a trembling heart is
Squeezing out the ember years

And in her dream of youth,
Abounding buttocks writhe,
Acting out the careless dares

But the dream of hideous beauty:
Self-delusion, begging fears

Evolving from an agonising birth, her
Blacker days eclipsing; draining worth

'So ugly living calls to die –
Forever in the dreams I cry! '

Erotic debt; a laughing lie
Were done for her –
A blade for sure!
The dreams to cure!

A calming sigh...

And in a smile of pain
She bled and waned
Her cold pathetic bye

~Mark R. Slaughter, A Valentine in Pain

Ardin stood at her window, watching as the scarlet sun peeked out from behind the lines of houses, splattering the sky with shades of pink, orange, and red as though someone had dumped bottles of paint from the heavens. Could it have been the angels? Could they have given the world such beauty? In that case, Ardin almost hated it.

She still had two hours before school started, but she already adorned tattered jeans she had worn for the past month, the tee shirt she had slept in (or rather, tossed and turned in), and a pair of dirty Nikes. Her black hair stuck out from all angles, and her dark make-up smeared like ashes across her face. Staring into the window, her reflection appeared to be a ghost, like a figure only half there. The thought provided an inkling of comfort.

Her mother had spent the night at Tashelle's house, soothing the poor woman through the dark hours, especially since Tashelle's husband came home drunk. Their son and daughter were both dead now, and the only question on Ardin's mind was when God was going to take them. But, knowing him, he would let the miserable suffer, and take those who were happiest.

A raven fluttered and landed on a branch of the oak tree by her window, and it stared at her with its beady, black eyes. It ruffled its feathers and sat still, not a sound escaping from its beak.

"Nevermore," Ardin muttered, and she sighed at the bird. "You don't have to stay in this depraved world, do you? You can fly away, live in the sky, live away from it all.

But, then again, you're a creature of the Devil, aren't you? So why do you fly so close to Heaven if you belong in Hell?"

Ardin paused, gazing at the bird, black eyes meeting light, turquoise green. "Do you know where Cyra is? You do, don't you, being a creature of death?"

The raven just let out a caw in reply and fluttered away.

"That's right," Ardin murmured. "'Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'" She drew in a heavy breath and pressed her forehead against the cold, precipitating window. Life had, at one point, lit a road of success, but that extinguished. All her plans for the future had involved her best friend. They had only a few weeks left of high school, and then they would have gone to college together and master in English. Ardin was also going into criminal justice, and Cyra had decided to perhaps become a counselor. And then they would have moved to Florida by the ocean, and they would find someone nice, get married, and look after each others' children. They would write poetry and perhaps open a publishing corporation, and have jobs on the side. Then they would grow old, care for each other in the nursing home, and die. But that life was ruined. What fun would studying English be if Cyra wasn't there to listen to her jokes? What good would Florida be if someone wasn't there to laugh at her when she got sunburned? A future without Cyra was not a very good future at all.