Eternity's Ending (our version of events) - Book One

Xander

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned; it's been eight years since my last confession," the words stumbled from my mouth and hung clumsily in the night breeze.

My plea echoed in the silence and I realized the absurdity of my request. I searched my pant pockets thoroughly before realizing my ability to cope had been stashed in my jacket. I pulled the silver flask from my breast pocket and unscrewed the cap.

"Forgive me," I said mockingly before placing the container to my mouth.

At full tilt, the flask dispensed only a few drops. I stuffed it back in my jacket pocket and dropped to the ground in frustration. My knees sunk slightly in the damp earth, frustrating me more. I struggled to my feet and relocated myself a few inches away. I leaned against the cool stone that bore his name then buried my face in my hands.

Memories illuminated the darkness the moment my world faded to black. I'd learned not to fight them anymore, they were here to stay. They seized every opportunity they could find to make themselves visible; sleep, daydreams, blinks.

The words "he's gone" spoken to me with the pride of justice being served caused my heart to cease to be. Its existence was evidenced solely by the phantom beats echoing hurriedly in the hollowness of my chest. I thought I might throw up. I thought I might die. As my informant continued on, ignorant to the effect of his painstaking detail; I knew for certain the tears crowning at the corners of my eyes would soon give birth to weeping. Seconds later the tear entered the world without fanfare, slipping gracefully from my eye to the pavement. The future we would never have was displayed briefly along the course of its succinct path. Our entire life lay splattered across the concrete, as irreparable as the liquid encasing providing its transport from possibility to hopelessness. I started to excuse myself but instead, I turned and ran. In the moments spent explaining what was meant by saying "I need to go save my life" I would miss out on the chance to save it. But those moments wouldn't matter; he was already gone.

Rumors of the role I played in his suicide ripped through the town. My appearance in public in the years that followed were met with assuming stares and whispered words. I did not care that they hated me. I did not care that they wished upon me a similar fate. The unspoken banishment, the blame they lay at my feet, was nothing compared to the guilt I carried with me every moment of every day. I reached for the flask again. If there was a God, there would be a swallow of bourbon somewhere in the flask. I knew neither existed, even before I attempted another drink. The existence of bourbon would mean I was being shown some type of mercy, even if it was just a temporary reprieve into a liquor-filled sea of forgetfulness. No bourbon equaled no mercy and no mercy meant no God. I pulled myself up to my feet and left the cemetery in search of my own mercy.

Empty bottles lined my countertop because they'd already put my trash can at capacity; I made no plans to clear them away. I cracked the seal on the newest bottle and tried to drink away the memories that refused to leave me alone. The picture taken on the night we met lay broken on the floor, flashes of me dropping it in a drunken stupor filled the room. I looked to the slices that lined my finger and the few pieces shattered glass laying on the countertop as confirmation of the events of the night before. I picked the picture up from the floor, along with the shards of glass that went unrecovered.

Fantasies of its restoration ran rampant in my mind, if I could fix this, then maybe I could have him back. Hours later, bloodied fingers and no progress made it clear to me it held no restorative powers. I filled my mouth with bourbon and pressed the picture to my chest. I swayed to the haunting sound of him pleading with me not to leave him alone. Tears streamed down his face when I said I'd never let him go. This alcohol is as bitter as the kiss I placed on his cheek to seal that promise. I didn't know never meant not ever. I didn't know he couldn't even spend one day outside of the reach of my arms. I didn't know saying goodbye, even if temporarily, released him into the shadows that would ultimately kill his light. I lost my footing and the dance ended as I fell onto the couch.

"Just close your eyes," the words come from nowhere and everywhere as the room spins with my inebriation.

I know his voice and I search frantically for him. The setting sun masterfully reproduced his likeness against the wall and I staggered toward it. Air filled the hand trying to grasp him.

"You'll be alright," I staggered in the direction of words leading me to my bedroom. I used the walls to hold myself up along the way but once inside my bedroom, I had no crutch to hold me up. I fell forward onto the floor. The bottle of bourbon flew from my hand and his picture slid beneath my bed. I threw the covers up onto the mattress and used the final moments of daylight to look for the frame. It sat next to the box that held my handgun.

"You'll be alright," the words filled the air and I pulled out the frame and the box.

I laid down on my bed and held the frame in front of me. The nonstop whirl of the world around me forced my eyes closed. I clung to the image of his face.

"You'll be alright," his words pulled me into the upright position.

Without thought, I loaded a single bullet into the gun. I flinch at the thought of the war they have waged against my very existence. Trying me by fire upon every encounter. I finally understood how one could grow tired of waking up.

"No one can hurt you now," I allowed myself to fantasize about the mercy death would grant me.

The idea that he didn't honor his promise to take me with him idles in the back of my mind. He made it clear that, for him, loving me was a fate worse than death. What if he didn't take me with him because he didn't want to love me in any existence?

"Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound," the melodic tone of his voice stresses our coexistence in whatever place he is inviting me to.

I close my eyes in order to hold the picture of him standing with me in my head.

"Safe and sound," he sings once more as I stare into eyes that could never lead me astray.

I blindly lift the gun to my head, focusing solely on the promise I made to him; Heaven, hell or somewhere in between, before allowing him to sing me home.

The clap of the gun throws me from my sleep and I find myself in Vincent's arms. The air missing from my lungs triggers panic, which triggers tears and the feeling then fear of dying. My heart rate increases with each passing beat. All I am is pain. The grief forces my surrender. Tears explode onto the covers beneath me as I plead for relief. Howls raid the silence in search of someone to pacify them.

Vincent strokes my head and rocks me slowly.

"It's okay. It's okay," he repeats over and over in between the wails that have invaded our home.

"No one can hurt you now," he's almost singing the words as he rocks me back and forth.

I find the tiniest bit of comfort in the familiar song. I open my eyes and look at Vincent for the first time.

"Safe and sound," he sings as he meets my stare.

Everything I thought I knew explodes into a million unrecognizable pieces as I realize the songs aren't similar at all, they are exactly the same.