Untitled (A story about losing the person you lost yourself in)

chapter one.

Fall was fast approaching,

the wind was picking up and there was a slight chill to the day despite the morning sun. A large oak tree on a slight hill stood watch over a small graveyard and the interned bodies. The late summer leaves were alight with orange and with every breath that the wind took a voluminous amount of leaves filled the grounds. The grounds were littered with unkept graves, most of these graves held no significance to the figure that stood there. Over a grave that rested near the trunk of a large tree was a simple tombstone that marked the grave of the figures mother. His black hair fell into his face; casting a large shadow over my eyes. Brushing his hair out of my face, a tear fell onto his black t-shirt.

How long has it been since I heard your voice? I miss you, Christopher thought as he bent and said a prayer before placing a rose on the tombstone that was before him and took a step back. The tombstone was nothing but simple; it was made from black marble and rhodium metal plating; it bared a date on it then below it were engraved words:

 ELIZABETH MELBOURNE

Beloved Mother .

A Light in a world of Darkness.

 Walking away he felt it. He felt the pain and longing that kept him awake at night but if he let himself, he'd drown in a world of sorrow; he'd be caught at sea during the middle of a storm in a fishermans boat. He can’t let that happen, he simply wouldn’t be able to handle it, not that kind of pain. Christopher reaches into the pocket of his bag, the moment he reaches his car; feeling for what he knows is there. He never takes his eyes off of the digital car clock, where a picture of him and his mom smiling rests, before he slices into his flesh.

The blade bites so deeply that he almost swoons, but still, he never stops looking at the picture lying on the dashboard. His blood spouts as voluptuously as hiss tears. It drips unchecked, down his arm and onto the floor of his car as Christopher watches the memory replay itself within his head; he wished he had it back. The razor doesn’t hurt him. Not really. Not like some things could. Christopher savagely swipes at his wrist.

Not like some things could.

Christopher awoke with a start; the harsh thumping on his car window was enough to wake the dead (pun?). His body was dripping in sweat, his shirt clinging to his body. His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the car door; his fingers slipping over it. He finally was able to open the door, to see a disgusted face.

"Shit" Christopher mumbles as in his attempt to not allow his boat to capsize he had forgotten the clean up, and the look the cemerary gard gave him was blatant disgust, and who wouldn't?

"Er, sir, you can't stay here, please, um, clean yourself up and leave the premises- visiting time is over" the stern looking guard says before fleeing. But even before running away the look he gave Christopher was with such malicious disgust that Christopher couldn't help holding back his disgust, and he threw up, right there. 

Chris felt like he had nothing left to throw up when he kept heaving. His back arching as he lurched forward. Chris cried as he wiped his mouth and face; cleaning off both sweat and tears, he leaned back into the seat of his car. However much Christopher wanted to hate the guard, he was grateful; he had woken hin from a dream where he was seeing his parents fighting, and bleeding all over again; he began wiping down his arms he spoke softly to himself.

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