A/N: This was going to be my entry challenge but then I realised the chapter rule. And then I looked like(ಠ _ ಠ)
So I might as well use this as an excuse to post something here lol.
Did you know traditionally Irish and Scottish people carved turnips (instead of pumpkins) to remember the souls in purgatory?
This fic is just filled with so much reference (e-cookie to those who can see and guess them all] and symbolism it’s kind of weird lol. You might find it hard to understand, apologies for that. σ(^_^;)
I decided to number them into acts rather than split them into chapters because I can.
Happy Halloween. :]
——–this is a line———-
“It is always twilight in one’s cell, as it is always twilight in one’s heart.”
I wake her up as every hand of the clock embrace in that single moment. Her eyes slowly open. She smiles at me and caresses my cheeks. She asks me what is it. I tell her September is over. She nods and says that October will be a better month, perhaps. She invites me to share the bed with her. I scramble on and fill in the empty spot next to her.
It was cold, I thought to myself as the darkness of twilight swallowed us both and the only words I breathed were the words “I love you”, so were the words she kissed me with.
“I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.”
I wake her up as the month comes to its midway mark. Her eyes slowly open. They look tired. The ghost of a smile hanged from her lips. She whispers what is it. I tell her it was the fifteenth. She nods and says things were already getting better. The deception in her voice was like music to my ears.
Comfort from a corpse, I could hear the dead serenade me with songs of life.
She invites me to share the bed with her. I slowly slip myself into the empty spot beside her.
It was cold, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart.
She is. She is. She was.
“All alone and I remember now,
At the top of my lungs in my arms. She dies.”
I open the door to wake her up as the witching hour fell upon us, along with it was the final day in this beautiful month of October.
I drop the carved turnip in my hands. She slowly opens her eyes and smiles, immersed in a coffin of water and rose petals.
The turnip crashes to the ground, shattering into a dozen unsightly pieces. Souls struggle to escape from it while I struggle to breathe.
She invites me to share the bed. I kneel down next to her, holding her palm as it stains my cheek red. She whispers my name like a heartbeat, her eyes were fixated onto things I could not see. But it isn’t me she is calling.
My name dies with her heartbeat. Her name lives in my screams.
I hear a door being broken down, a deep voice that often offered me security, but unfortunately not this time. I saw a blur and heard a siren.
It was cold, I thought to myself as I listen to poetry from the dead and songs by an Angel.
“When the moment comes will you take your chance to be a hero?”
His voice haunts me every night. And I hear her heartbeat in his breath.
She was waiting for you to be the hero.
And you weren’t there.
It’s cold, I think to myself. Forever and always, only to myself.
—-this is another line——–
Just wanted to say that yes, I do know the difference between “hanged” and “hung”. 😉