Blue Rose

Chapter One: Past and present

Light. A bright glow in the distance and darkness surrounding me. I don't know where I am, nor what I should do. I hear laughter. I turn in the direction from which it comes and then I see her. She runs happily towards the light, her dark curls dancing behind her with her every movement. On her beautiful face I can see only the expression of complete happiness. She's so beautiful ... but she doesn't notice me – she's only looking at this strange glow looming in the distance. Why won't she even glance at me? I grab her hand as she passes by. She turns her head and finally looks straight at my face. The blissful expression of joy immediately disappears from her face, replaced by a grimace of terror. She pushes my hand away and runs from me, heading towards the light. I want to follow her, but I can't move. I want to call her, but I can't utter a single word. She's getting farther and farther away from me ... I can only watch, left alone in the darkness. In the light I see a male figure.

- - - X - - -

I wake up with a scream, which resounds around me, echoing off the stone walls.

But there is no one here who could hear it.

''Christine...'' I sob, hiding my face in my hands. ''Why?''

Why did you leave? Why did you turn out to be like everyone else and abandon me? Why can't I forget about you? Why do you still have to haunt me? Why won't you just leave me alone? Why... why am I alone again? Why do I have to lose all that is dear to me? Why can't I have at least a tiny bit of happiness?!

Two years ... Two years have passed, and I still remember her face, her voice, even her scent. Every day, every passing second is a never-ending torture. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to pull my hair out, I want to dig nails deep into my own flesh and tear it till it starts to bleed – anything that would let me even for a moment forget about the pain. But none of these things help.

I've tried.

Slowly, I get up on trembling legs and begin to take tentative steps among the remains of what once used to be the furniture and objects which I had so carefully chosen for my home. I trample upon my own compositions, drawings, plans, but I can not bring myself to care about this or feel regret because of it.

Because I regret too many other things.

I hit something with my foot. I look down. The violin. Once I would have immediately picked it up and made sure that it isn't broken. But now I don't care, it's pointless anyway – for two years I have not touched any instrument. I can't.

My music left with her.

Next step. The sound of breaking glass under my feet. These shards were formerly a mirror... But maybe it is better this way? I know perfectly well how all these months devastated my body. I practically don't leave the underground, I eat just enough to survive – and even about this I increasingly forget to do – and my dreams are full of nightmares and memories that don't let me rest... I've neglected almost all the needs of the body, which a human being is able to neglect. I am a wreck of a man and I look like one.

I don't need anything to remind me about that.

Finally I reach one of the few furniture items that have survived my attacks of fury of which have haunted me for the first few months – to my desk. Here, on its countertop, there is a wooden box, and inside of it there lies what I am looking for. Morphine. Part of me wonders how I could have fallen so low and became so pathetic, but these thoughts quickly disappear under the pressure of others, those about the peace and bliss offered by the contents of the syringe, the sweet moment of illusion that I crave so much. A small voice inside my head is trying to scream that it's wrong, that I should stop... but I have long since learned to ignore it. I open the casket, knowing that in a moment all will be better, I can almost feel the sweet poison flowing through my veins...