People say it was better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all. Those people are idiots. Retarded, selfish, un-loving idiots. If I could smite down one sort of people in this world it would be them… and those weird mimes; they just give me the shivers. I mean, who the hell pretends they’re in a box?
Anyway back to the point, romantics are stupid and I hate them. They’re horrible. I’m never falling in love. Never, I say. I’ve already learnt my tear-stained lesson. Yes, a very painful experience. But you know what they say: Experience is the worst teacher; it gives the test before presenting the lesson. And there you have it. Why I hate love.
Yeah, I’ve been in love.
Yeah, it’s made me a bitter person.
So what?
Love is not all that its cracked up to be anyway. You see, they become your everything. The air you breathe, the water you drink, the only thing you need to survive. And when you lose them… you die. So what if I’m bitter. I’d rather be dead. I’d rather have not loved at all.
He didn’t leave me. I left him. It’s hilarious, isn’t it? I’ve got no goddamned right to be so bitter, but its true. I left him when he needed me most. And now we’ll never be together… ever. It’s not true when they say it’s better to have loved and lost than not loved at all. It’s a lie. Fucking romantics. They should all just die.
I wish they would just… die.
“Hey, honey, where are we going?” I ask as I tug at the blindfold covering my eyes.
He slaps gently at my hand and then pulls it into his own, “Uh-uh! No peaking, birthday baby.”
The smile on my face is instant and I feel the anxiety and excitement blooming in my chest. His presence next to me is like a blanket made of sunlight. When he’s around everything becomes more beautiful. The breeze becomes so cool, so light; it feels like I could float away.
He begins to guide me and I don’t care that I’m blind and lost. As long as he has my hand I’ll be fine. I know it.
“Watch your step,” he mutters, just an instant too late.
My foot misses and the blackness around me moves down, down, down. It feels like I’m falling forever. But it’s only a moment. A second in time. And I know I’m fine because he’s still there. Still holding my hand. Even though I’m caught in the blackness, I know he’s there.
Suddenly the motion stops and I feel warmth on the back of my neck and a tightness around my waist, “You okay?”
He’s caught me. Of course. His breath tickles my neck and goose-bumps run up my arms, causing me to shiver. I know he’s smiling. I can feel it. He turns me around and his breathing becomes louder. His face is getting closer. My hearts begins to thump faster and faster. I can feel his breath on my face. It’s warm, so warm, and it smells like mint. Like it always does.
“We’re here.”
He softly takes off the blind fold and I open my eyes and I don’t even care where we are. I don’t even bother to glance around, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. All I can see is him. He’s there and he’s mine. And I’m so glad he’s both of those things. He still hasn’t let go of my hand. I would never want him to. His hands are so warm.
I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s looking at the scenery. At the sun setting. It sprinkled when we were walking here and the little drops of water scattered amongst the green trees are like diamonds. The golden light makes his blonde hair glow and it makes his blue eyes shine. And now he’s looking at me with those eyes. And he’s smiling. His smile would make Gods jealous. This moment is perfect. So perfect. Even God himself couldn’t ruin this.
And then I hear the snap. It’s so quiet, but in our warm silence it’s loud. We both turn to look, disbelief on his face. His smile fades instantly. The sun sets behind the mountains in the horizon, casting a flat orange halo into the sky. The tree falls, breaking in half, the rot inside now visible. And then it begins to roll. I go blank. I don’t know what to do. Our moment has been shattered. He looks at me, and tries to smile, and I love him so much more for trying, “It’ll be okay. Let’s get moving.”
He has my hand still. He’s pulling. Tugging. The coldness of the night begins to seep into my skin. I know I should move. But my body doesn’t work. But he’s still here. He has my hand. It’ll be alright. I’ll be fine, because he’s here.
He lets go of my hand and for a moment I am lost. I think I'm dead, but then he picks me up. I feel found again, but I’m still frozen. I don’t know why I can’t do anything. The log rolls faster gaining momentum, tumbling towards us. The darkness of night begins to settle as the calls of the nocturnal awake. He is still so warm. As he runs I dig my head into his chest and listen to his heart thumping. I close my eyes tight. His panting get’s louder. I open my eyes for a second and wish I hadn’t.
The log has started a mud-slide all the way down the mountain. It’s rushing towards us. All the moistened dirt has become loose from the rain and it’s chasing us down. He’s still running as fast he can. Muttering in my ear, “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
I close my eyes and hug him closer. I hear a crashing rumble noise. It gets louder and louder. Closer and closer. I don’t want to look. So I crunch my eyes close and scream that I love him. I know he smiles. I can feel it. And then the mud-slide catches up and he lifts me onto his shoulders as high as he can put me.
I reach back for him, screaming, but I get tangled by a branch and instead latch onto it. And then torrent of mud takes him away. The log stops rolling. A star sparkles into the night sky. And he’s not here.
I hate all romantics, because I hate myself; I wish they would all die. I wish they would all die, so I could die with them.
And be there… with him.
It’s not better to have loved and lost. It hurts too much.
Anyway, this was a short story, so I won't be continuing it, but I'm overjoyed that you think it had enough potential to be carried on.