The Quiet End

There is pain in the deep of the night, when the stars don't shine, when even the moon hides its face. It is a deep ache, a lancing sharpness, everything and all, that cuts through your body and lodges in your bones. You feel it in the cold, when warmth has died a slow, lingering death.

It is a dampness that drips through your hair like blood, a powdery ash clinging to your skin that brings with it flashes of light, a brilliance of the long dead memories. It makes you remember his face and feel the warmth of his arms even as you crouch, frozen, in the corner of the dark cell. The memories bring temporary, unwanted life back to your dead body and return the feeling to your soul.

It is not welcome, this return to the world, to the painful truth of your existence. And, really, what do you have to live for anymore? The sweet anticipation of the long awaited kiss? But, you know the only kiss you shall receive will be of a far less ambrosial sort. It will be the kiss that steals away your spirit for good, placing you in the eternal realm of wandering.

Sometimes, you look for a window in your hollow cell, though you know none exists. You want to look out and see the gallows tree with its grim, foreboding aspect. You want to see its creeping limbs reaching for you, its branches splayed like skeletal fingers. A hanging would be better than what you know you will receive.

When you are awake, you wish for his arrival. You don't want much, just a word, a touch of his warm skin on your icy cold cheek. You want to die with a memory of him, even one so small. It doesn't seem too much to ask for, but, you have a feeling it will not be granted.

* * *

You think the sun is shining somewhere, but, you aren't sure. In the depths of the prison, there is no light, except the flickering glow of a dying lamp. You wonder about the outside world, whether they are still fighting the unending war. You think they must be, or, he would have come. But, then again, he might be dead.

The thought pains you as you see the image of his broken, tortured body. You don't want his life to end that way, in such a useless chain of violence. Once, it was all you desired, but, you have changed. Your anger has evolved into something else, though not any less painful. You think you might love him, this Boy-Who-Lived. It is a frightening thought.

You stand weakly and feel your legs wobble as you walk towards the door. It won't be long until they come for you, yet, you don't feel scared anymore. Maybe, you have given up. Maybe this is what defeat feels like. There is an ache within your chest that swallows your whole being, making you feel lost and empty. The day is nearly done, and, you have lost the war. There will be no last minute rescues, no brave challengers to thwart your doom. Just the quiet end.