Grey smoke danced through the heavy green haze. I'm falling into a misty jade abyss. Soft sable fringes surround the smokey emeralds.
"Tell me,"his voice a sleep blurred whisper.
"I can't," I tell him, but he won't listen. He marches on with synthetic strength, pushing until I break. The words spill forth with a quiet fear threaded into them. He looked at me then, truly looked, and hated what he saw (the truth).
His voice broke on a desperate sob, and the rage pushed its way to the surface. He turned away, screaming, pleading, but never once looking at me.
Always in a storm there is a calm before the worst of it hits.
Soft, furtive whispers volley back and forth, occasionally punctuated by a sigh or a sob. And then the calm passes.
He's standing over me, screaming before I even know what happened. I saw the flash of silver, but was too slow in following. It was my turn to cry and plead, but to little avail.
By the time I finally broke through blood was pooling and coating everything we touched. He came to me, tried to hold me, but I couldn't hold him back. All I could hear were his screams, echoing, mixing with the sobs and sharp hitches of breath.
Deep, bone chilling fear slid through me right alongside the cold. I couldn't feel my fingers but I knew he held them, squeezed them until they had turned a soft purple. He layed me down gently, more kind in that one act than he had been in two years.
I tried to call his name but shock froze my tongue as I watched him lift the blade to his own wrists. I couldn't hear it if he screamed his own pain, but I watched his blood pool into mine until I couldn't tell whose was which.
It got dark too soon, and so I can't be sure that it was him that laid beside me and held me those last few minutes, but I like to think it was.
I still watch him sometimes, and try to help him when I can. He spends his days watchin tv and talking about why it happened. They are talking about letting him out next year. I think I just might have to nudge it the other way. We aren't supposed to intervene, but there are always special cases.
Each night when he lays down to sleep I lay beside him and trace his scars, and hold him as his world goes dark. If you want to know the truth about the night I died, I've given you all I could. And all because I couldn't tell him. I still can't.