This is for Forestqueen's contest. The song that inspired this was Fully Alive by Flyleaf. I don't really know if it makes a whole lot of sense so if you could tell me that'd be awesome. And if you try to compare it to the song. It's about someone who has to deal with someone he loves who is Fully Alive, and believes they are going to be okay.
~peanut~
She is alive. In a state I cannot imagine but alive. She I dying in agony and I am dying slowly with her. My pain is different, emotional and sorrow filled. She says her death is fate and she is ready.
I’m not.
I know what she would say if she saw me now. She would tell me this is wrong and that I am supposed to live while she dies and that I am her angel sent from God.
If she were here I’d agree with her but think to myself what bull this all is. I’d tell her I loved her and she would believe my lies, my deception. She’s not here.
She is in some God forsaken hospital with people she doesn’t know watching her die. I am ashamed that I am not there to see her, I can’t do that to her. My love is too great—she can not see me like this. She can’t think this is her fault because in all truth it is mine.
The view out the window haunts me, bringing back memories of Aly before I broke her. I can imagine her dancing in the rain that is coming down in sheets and forcing me to sing with her. I shiver as the memory of her beautiful voice fills the bathroom.
I don’t think. I can’t think or it won’t happen. I reach forward and stop the water that has filled the bathtub to the brim. My shoe clatters against the tile floor, the other quickly following suit.
The days of comforting her are over as are the days of suffering. She will no longer have to look at me, the monster that hurt her. I take a small breath and step into the tub. Water spills over the sides. I lie down carefully, my clothes like balloons around me.
Over the rim I can see the picture of Aly; it bleeds onto the white tile, fading. My head hits the water with the vision of her.
“I’m sorry Aly,” I whisper. My voice shakes. “I don’t believe in Jesus.”
I fall under not even bothering to hold a last breath. My eyes blur from the clear water. There is a ringing that distorts the watery silence. I do nothing because the darkness takes over.
“Mr. Johns, this is Cross Network Hospital. We would like to inform you that Miss Aly Bennett responded well to the surgery and is expected to make a full recovery.” Click. Silence.
