Laid Bare And Bleeding

Do Me Little Do You

His footsteps echoed through the darkened streets of 20th century England. A bouquet of White Lilies in his hand, Gilbert walked hurriedly, trying not to slip from the icy sidewalk. And maybe trying to not get caught.

He passed a local bookstore, with its windows dark and empty —closed for the wintry night— and he felt astonishingly similar to the window store: empty... Does he really feel that way? Sure. But didn't it all happen a long time ago? It did. No, he thought, mistakes happen once, while memories stay, forever.
Besides, did the owner of the bookstore knew of what happened there? Probably not. Gilbert used to live there; no bookstore, no sidewalk. Just a cottage, some woods, and being with the love of his life. Happy. Meaningful...
Was he that desperate for it? For meaning? He believed so. But no one could blame him to be.

He could see his breath turn into snow, and with every step he took, he felt the atmosphere drop.

He remembered.

Even after all those years, he still remembered. Clear as day, as sure as the dawn. He remembered. How could he not? That day was, accordingly to his words, the last day he remembered being happy. Felt happy. With her, of course. He could never forget her–

“Mien Schatz, you know I can always stay with you, here. I can make arrangements, Jacob might be able to understand?” he said to her, she smiled at him,“it's alright, Gil. He just wants to spend time with you, you're brothers after all.” she said, “really?!” “ Of course, you've been holding yourself back for the past 3 years, have some fun!” How blessed was he?! Gilbert quickly embraced his wife of 3 years and spun her around as she giggled, breathlessly.

He thanked her and he even made them supper that evening. He left the next day, but she woke up early just to cook him a meal and kiss him goodbye. And that was the last time he saw his beloved. The last time he'll ever see her smile, and the last time he'll ever feel her lips, and the last time he'll ever hear her words, ‘I love you’...

His black leather boots crunched the snow beneath them as he opened the creaky, steel gate. This was it. The air felt colder here, devoid of life. Just memories of those once with us. It wasn't a lovely feeling, he admitted. But he felt relieved to be with her again, just for a few moments as he knows they'll be moving camp the next few days.
And his ‘boss’ expects him to follow the northern route to France, which takes 3 days to get to.

Might as well visit her while he still can.

Her headstone was covered in a layer of pale, white snow. Gilbert smiled sadly, and took the wilted flowers he placed 4 months ago and replaced it with the new ones he brought. He brushed a thin sheen of ice off her tombstone with his boot. Her name, age, birthday, and day of death were carved into the cold marble square, illuminated by the paled moon. The words were visible enough to be read: Máiri Jane Longbourn–Beilschmidt, 28 years old, born on September 16, 1561, died on March 10, 1589.

He sighed, still staring at her name. His smile faltered when he started reminiscing about their time together. He did that quite a bit. Because it wouldn't feel right if he didn't, those times were precious. And so was she. He felt angry, looking back at what happened to his beloved. He felt angry at those villagers, he felt angry at that night, he felt angry at himself. He felt angry for not being there for her.

She never deserved that fate. No one did. She believed that all life was precious. No matter how terrible or vile the person, they deserved to live. He once objected to that statement, but now he understood. All must be given a chance at living. But would she ever agree to him? To Gilbert? Her husband, her love? What would she say, if she were still alive, about him now?

He was a soldier, a person who lives on command and was raised by discipline. He was a soldier, a man trained to kill all those who oppose his officials. A high-ranking soldier, he led an army, maybe he was a General? Why had he chosen to be one, in the first place? He wanted to protect people. He told her that. But he couldn't even protect her.

What could she say about him now? With all his sins laid bare; he killed innocent people for his officials. He was a monster. A machine of flesh and blood, raised by the government to obey their every command and to kill all those who thought otherwise.

But he knew. He knew he was a  sinner. He knew he was a monster. He admits to all the crimes he'd committed on humanity. And would his beloved approve of such? He smiled in melancholy, “well, Mien Schatz, looks like I fulfilled my dream to serve the country.” He laughed dryly, “Es tüt mir leid, for not being able to visit you, it has been a tough few months.”

“I know you do not approve of me joining the army, but I had to... My— ‘boss’ has high standards, I guess I was fortunate enough to be part of... This—” he gestured exasperatedly at nothing, “though, after getting a feel of it, I feel as though I've been fighting on, or for the wrong side,” he said, “does that make any sense?” the moon was now over head, shining through the dead trees as if a sign of lost hope. Gilbert sniffed, he wasn't sure whether from the cold or from crying, until he felt his iced tears on his pale cheeks.

His lips twitched, he was still looking at her tombstone. Her name spelled in black, cursive writing. “Anyway, I could never forget this day, Máiri. 12th of October. Happy anniversary, mien liebling,”

“it's been a few years. But I also came here, as this would be the last time I will be visiting. I'm going to France for a few months, and I don't think I'll be able to escape from my officials as I did. We're arranging an attack on the Allies. Jaycob says it'd be a good idea to take Francis first, but—” he stopped himself and he sighed for the umpteenth time that night. His breath was turning into ice as he felt his cheeks flush from the cold.

“siigh... You understand why I'm doing this, right?” he said, a part of him was silently hoping for a reply. From whom? He wasn't so sure. But Gilbert stayed there, for a moment and, if he could, forever. To be with her again. But the moon burned bright in the midnight-sky. He guessed it to be around 1 in the morning, and the air was now dropping to negatives quickly. He said his final goodbye to her that night, and quickly made his way back.

As he did, Gilbert passed that bookstore again. Its empty windows served as a terrible mirror, he was hurrying his pace but caught a glimpse of himself in it with someone else, he was sure it was him; his black coat covered his military uniform underneath, and his shiny, silver-blond hair gave it away. The mirror-him looked happy, and with him, was his lovely wife. She was as stunning as she always is. Her dark brown hair was longer as she danced with his mirror-self and he dipped her as they ended their short performance, laughing at each other’s silliness and soon disappeared, as quickly as he saw it. They both seemed happy.

He wanted it to be him in that mirror. Just for a second, he wanted it to be him. To be the one dancing with her, laughing, and holding her. He was desperate. He wanted to fill the empty space in his chest as would the window. He wanted to so bad.

But in this world, he couldn't do so. And he turned away, from the lonely, dark bookstore, and hurried back to his brother's.

                       »The End«