Shitty stories of William and Henry -=[FINISHED]=-

Pity

 I had three children with a woman I never cared to love. Or at least, that love wasn't voluntary, it was rather compulsory, a role, a task I must accomplish. I didn't love her. I... pitied her.

 I pitied that woman. Watching her trying to care for me, to love me, to make me love her back, it was painful. Painful for her, not me. I didn't really care if she felt sad or hurt, I just... I couldn't develop a single thread of feeling towards her. I didn't hate her. I... pitied her.

  Twenty years to think back about those memories, twenty years to think back about that woman. She was stunningly beautiful. Her smile was as bright as the sunshine in a spring day, her hair was as soft as cloud, her hands were gentle and tender. Lovely. It was not just her beauty. She was kind, generous, she was a perfect mother and wife. But I couldn't be the love partner she had desired me to be. I didn't feel anything for her. Except. I... pitied her.

 As I said, I had three children with her. Three children of the thirty-third Afton generation. Oh how happy she was, her eyes drown in tears of joy as she embraced their small forms in her arms, and the least I could say: She was actually happy for the first time. I did what I was supposed to do. I took care of them. My wife and my kids. My other half and my offsprings. They looked like me, especially the first born. But none of them had silver eyes like me. The eldest had blue eyes. The second eldest had dark brown eyes, just like hers. And the youngest... She had those beautifully glimmering emerald green eyes. Again, she thought I had been distant because she hadn't had children with me. She thought their appearances in this house could bring us together. How wrong of her to think so. I didn't pull her closer. I kept pushing her away like she was nothing. I... couldn't pity her anymore.

 I... loved her, but she was not him. She didn't talk like him, she didn't have the ingenuity that he possessed, she didn't seem anything like him. Her eyes bore no meaning to me. I couldn't see the light within those eyes. I knew I couldn't cling forever to his life, I must have my own story. But hope kept pulling me back, and the stubbornness kept my hope alive. I insisted in believing that our paths were meant to cross, that all the other people were just mere obstacles in our ways. So I snapped.

 When the time had finally come, I did what I thought to be right. I left. Not exactly, I left her. To go after him. How desperate she was. How lonely she had been. How depressed she had become. How subtle her suffering cries had come out of her curving lips. But I never turned around. I never cared to bat an eye. And then one day...

 I returned home.

 And she was no more.

 I didn't panic. I didn't budge. I didn't feel anything.

 Except.

 I pitied her.

 She died in loneliness, in sadness, in pain. And all I did was staring. Staring into those hollow eyes of her. She must have hated me so much. The air smelled like death and her lavender perfume. Beautiful. 

 Of course, I couldn't let my children be crushed under the weight of this... rather shocking news. So I did what I had to do. What I considered to suit the morals of a human.

 She was buried along with all the unhappy memories. I couldn't remember that day. Cold rain. Black coats. People everywhere. There was crying. But not from me. I stood there, lonely and hollow, staring down at her grave.

 And I smiled.