Two (Countdown Book 5)

Chapter 21

This is the last chapter, sorry this book has been a short one. Thanks for reading! :)

I hope you enjoy, NatashaPrice7512

I loved the rain. That soft pitter patter against a window, the way it slid down in beautiful sheets like a waterfall and splattered against the ground, expanding and exploding, and covering the concrete in water. I loved the feeling of going out in the rain, on my bike, cycling around and splashing through puddles carelessly. I was already soaked, so what difference would a bit more rain make?

But what I liked most about the rain was that it was so morbid, so depressing and yet so hopeful. When I see the rain in the sky, I don't feel sad or upset, I smile. Because right there, in the sky, in the thousands of tiny droplets of water descending to Earth, is the possibility of a rainbow. And you can't have a rainbow without rain. 

It was raining now, but there seemed to be no possibility of a rainbow. 

I listened to the rain hitting the window, sliding down and dropping the ground below, but for some reason I could not think of it as beautiful. To me, right then, it was more sorrowful, like a funeral song. I could almost hear the morbidity in the way the rain smashed down, spreading out and conquering the ground like some vicious plague. 

The wind was rustling in the leaves, and birds chirped their merry song. All of this should've sounded beautiful to me, but it didn't. The leaves sounded like an orchestra of drums, a cacophony of marching feet. They marched furiously, speeding up, getting louder, before dying down again with the lonely winds. And sometimes they seemed to stop all together, and I imagined all the leaves raising their twig-guns and firing down a man, a lonely man who had done nothing wrong.

The birds chirped on relentlessly, unknowing to how their high pitched tunes contrasted with the death-sound of nature. They could barely be heard over the sound of the rustling leaves and rain, but if you listened closely, you could hear them. The sounds that slotted in perfectly with the rest of the orchestra, all of it combining to make a beautiful, sad song.

It was the song of death. 

And as I listened, my breathing light and feathery, the music put a dead weight on my heart, because everything that should be beautiful no longer was. The vibrancy and colour seemed to drain from the world, and the stars seemed to shine just that little bit dimmer. It was as though the world was dying slowly, like a poison was seeping through it, tearing it apart and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. 

It was to this scene that I cradled my dying girlfriend. 

I was on my knees, my arms around her, holding her close to me. My whole body was shaking, my face was void of colour, my hands were cold. My heart thumped strangely slowly, as though it were made of lead and were having trouble beating. I breathed lightly and feathery because I didn't want to disturb the grave peace in the room. I felt something deep in the back of my throat, like an emptiness, and my stomach was slowly twisting itself into horrible, painful knots. 

She was cold and pale, her body shaking a little. Her hair was a tangled mess, but I brushed it smoothly away from her face like it were a sheet of feathers. Her hands were no longer tied in front of her, but rested calmly against her stomach. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, her heartbeat little more than the precious flutter of a butterfly's wings. Her t-shirt was soaked in blood. 

I pressed a hand carefully against the knife wound in her chest, my whole body numb with remorse. She gasped, struggling a little as I held my hand down more forcefully on the recent wound in a desperate, vain attempt to stem the flow of blood that was coming from inside her own body. As it slipped effortlessly between my fingers, covering my hands, I felt defeat conquering me like a thousand soldiers taking new land.