In Between Tragedy

TITLE: In Between Tragedy

AUTHOR: Arianna K

ARTIST: Flavija P.

TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNINGS: IMPLICATIONS OF SUICIDE AND LIFE-THREATENING ILLNESS

I can feel your hand in mine.

It’s a strange feeling, the fact that while I clutch your hand, my head seems to whisper warnings—warnings to let go before it’s too late. Before the fall comes to a stop and the tears stain your hands. Before the cold grip of violent regret latches onto our souls and drags our locked hands into the ground.

But right now, I do not care.

I do not care about the fact that, while we lie sheltered by the shadows so that only our faces are illuminated in the lone light of the moon, one of us has a body that is slowly withering away and the other has a soul that wishes to do the same. I do not care about the fact that by tomorrow I will no longer be here, and by the day after, neither will you. I do not care about the fact that the only sound thing in the world is how my body is fighting for a life that is about to end and the hand that rests between my fingertips. I do not care about any of that because, right now, none of it matters. Right now, the only thing that matters is whether or not the clouds will move from their spot in the sky and reveal the stars that hide high above them, so that I may see them one last time.

That was my last wish, after all—to see the stars. Maybe then they can convince you of what I cannot: that one hand still reaching for the sky is better than two that have fallen to the ground.

“Come on!” you shout, your voice caught in the darkness spreading up above, a grin on your face so deceptively wide that for a second I feel like smiling as well. You shout to the sky, to the wind, and to the clouds that hang in the air. You shout to all that you cannot and to all that cannot hear you, because even that would be more useful than shouting to those who actually can. “They’re dying for god’s sake! Cut them some slack and show them a few stars, why don’t ya?”

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” I point out, my eyes now traveling from the deep blue sky above down to the street below us, so far away that if I were to move only a few simple inches, the night would envelop my body. I suppose I could fall if I wanted to and save myself these last few moments, but then again, why would I?

In only a matter of days, a body would tumble down this ledge and get caught up in the wind, the soul flying so high that my withered yet youthful fingers would have to reach to grasp it. That’s what you promised. You promised that, just as everything stopped, just as my eyes closed and the beeping on the screen came to a halt, you would fall.

Everything would end.

All of it.

“Why wouldn’t you listen?” I ask suddenly, reverting my gaze back to your deep blue eyes.

You look at me in, not surprise, but kind amusement, as if you knew exactly what I was going to ask and yet still have yet to think of a response. “To who? You might want to be more specific than that.”

“To the stars,” I reply, kicking up my feet and lying back against the cold roof. The well-worn tiles dig into my arms when I let them fall as well, a ghost of a smile flickering onto my face.

You stare at me in confusion. “The stars?” 

“Yes, the stars.” I cast my gaze all around the quiet rooftop, though I know the quiet won’t last for long. Sooner or later, the spell my mind has cast around this place will weaken and wither away just as I do, and sooner or later, the dreamlike feeling will disappear. But for now, it doesn’t, so I stretch out my arms and sigh. “The stars want you to stay. For me.” I indicate the cloudy sky up above, in which not a blinking light can be seen. “They want you to witness what I cannot.”

For a second, you stare at me, before your face breaks into a grin, and you laugh such a laugh that it echoes in my mind and breaks the silent spell. But I don’t mind, because your laugh is such a wonderful one that people all over should hear it at least once. Like a blanket, your joy wraps over me and nestles me in one last inkling of comfort.

Of course, I can’t tell you that, so instead I say, “Why are you laughing?”

“Because the stars, my angel!” At this, you stand up, throwing out your arms in an outward motion like a dramatic introduction or a spectacular conclusion. “The stars are with us!”

Some would say you were mocking me, but I know the smile that lights up on your face. The exaggerated hand motions, the grinning, the loud voice that echoes up and down the street. It’s a facade, a mask to distract me from your true emotions.

I understand. You, of all people, do not want me to feel sad on this day. You want me to be happy, which I am. You do not want to tell me about how the despair in your heart is eating you up inside or how the blood on your hands is not from a fight. You do not want to tell me that the death of your closest love is more than a tragedy but a cruel injustice. You do not want to tell me, and usually I would protest. Usually I would draw you in close and speak from the heart nestled in my hand, and usually I would tell you about how this is eating me away, too. Usually I would tell you that everything is going to be alright, how all of this is just an obstacle that we can face together, but I cannot bring myself to lie to you today.

Yet I can’t quite bring myself to tell the truth, either.

That is why, instead of deeper explaining how the stars shine like lights in our hearts, growing dimmer and dimmer as we thrive and grow, I laugh. Even though my laugh is hoarse and strained, you smile, joining me in amusement because we are still too young in body and old in spirit to bother feeling anything else. For one small second, one small second that will cease to exist or matter in this universe after it is over, you are mine, and I am yours. Our hands are intertwined, and our eyes are locked. Our hearts are beating, and, though they are not even, they feel as if they are matched. For one small second, I can feel your hand in mine, and, for one small second, that hand is not cold and lifeless but bony and free. For one small second, all is still. The night air is silent, broken only by our warm breathing.

Until you break that silence with a small, barely audible whisper, “Do you want to escape?”

I avert my eyes from the shimmering sky and let them fall on your dancing expression. You look so happy; your body fit perfectly into mine, our backs stretched out against the rough tiles of the roof. Our shadows mold together, forming cloaked darkness and scythes made of smooth silver, overlooking our beating hearts.

I chuckle, taking your claim as a mere joke. “What?”

“Exactly what I said. Do you want to escape?” You sound out each syllable like they themselves can pull us out of this moment. The stars in your eyes glimmer in anticipation. “Leave this wretched place. Run away one last time.” You speak of running like it’s second nature, make me laugh like my lungs haven’t already given out, and clutch me close like you will never have to see me fall. It’s something I’ve learned about you: you play with fire as though you cannot burn, even when everybody else can see your scorching skin.

“I…” I know I need to refuse whatever offer you are making, trading wild nights overlooked by moonlight for more hours spent locked away from you. Tubes run like vines from my body, entrapping us in their hold, begging us to stay put, hoping that the stars will not be by our side tonight. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Your bones twist and your heart’s beating slows, yet still you do not back down. “Why not?” You slip your hand into mine, a warm touch against frigid cold, a full body against a rotting corpse. “This day needs to be special, doesn’t it?” Your gaze flickers up to the cloudy sky, searching for the beacon I whisper about with such force. “The stars say so.”

For a moment, we are both merely silent vessels held together by each other's pain. I imagine once again stumbling down darkened alleys with your shoulder pressed against mine, the world shifting and dancing to the music our half-empty bottles make as they collide, the city lights staining our faces a deep blue tinted with yellow. Earlier memories, not better but more hopeful, when the world hadn’t yet put a due date on two lives instead of one.

Finally, I exhale an answer, my warm breath fogging up your eyes, “Let’s escape, then.”

Tomorrow, the world will continue on as if nothing has changed. Nobody will sense the shift in the air, the dimming of the lights, or the bright burning of the stars that washes over us as we leave. The same souls will wander down these streets in a way they know quite well, their rose-tinted glasses so accustomed to blood, never questioning the two figures dressed in dirty sneakers and patched-up sweaters dancing along the side of the road without a care for the cars zooming past them. They will never understand the significance of stars shining down on well-worn rooftops, of the dark alleyways littered with empty bottles, of royal blue stained with bright yellow.

They might weep for the children whose lives were lost too soon, but they will not smile for the teenagers trying to gain that life back.

The rest of this secluded night is spent catching each other’s laughter in heart-shaped bottles, drinking said laughter and letting it settle in our throats, painting skulls with bleeding eyes and humans with bleeding souls along harsh stone walls. It’s spent singing tunes with hoarse voices and mumbling over the lyrics we have forgotten, stumbling into stores with glassy eyes and running out with mischief clutched between our teeth. With every valiant quest we accomplish and every teenage rebellion never realized before now, a twinkling light begins to peek out through the growing darkness. We get offered strange glances—me, the kid with the tubes and the half-eaten heart, and you, the brave soldier with self-inflicted battle scars—yet neither of us seem to mind. Tomorrow, our worlds will be over.

Tomorrow, I will finally be able to touch the stars.

Hours later, gazing up at a cloak littered with burning sparks, the idea of finality settles down beneath my bones. It’s the idea that tomorrow one pain will be over and another will begin. Turning my head to the side, I finger the spot of ground just near your arm, whispering so softly it’s as if I never spoke, “If you leave, I leave too.” A death wish disguised as nobility.

You don’t hear me. You’re too busy examining our piles of treasures, relishing in the idea of normalcy that we both seem so intent on pursuing. The way your eyes linger over every object, solidifying them in your mind, speaks far louder than your words. Tomorrow, you are going to lose the love of your life, and the pain you’ll feel will pull you to join them.

It sounds simple. Yet nothing is ever that simple.

The action to prevent it sounds simple enough as well: I should merely hold you tight and whisper in your ear, making you promise to never let your body tumble, telling you I will be there within the sky, watching as you continue on without me. If you really are my other half, the part that fits into my heart like so, then you must obviously obey the words of your dying love.

Yet death will never be that simple.

I have tried to prevent this fall before, every single time that the stars began to burn out beyond your eyes, your own night sky growing colder and colder, your meaning for being fading away with every movement. And now you lie alone, with the shadow of your purpose clutched between your fingertips.

“My angel…” your voice cracks, strained, as you take in all the mundane that means so much. “I’m so sorry.” The cracked open bottles, the cherry wine lips. Spray paint on blank walls. Jewels in lifeless eyes and rings on broken fingers.

Your body slips from my grasp, falling faster and faster. Your limbs blur together in a streak of color. The stars, their halo burning silver, stand near the top of the desolate hospital. They watch with glassy eyes, hand still outstretched. A ghost of a memory, a person that once existed but hasn’t for a very long time, remnants of the past that you crossed with every glance at a mirror. A flicker of the stars up above, the one that found the beauty in the simple.

I was yours, for a second, before time overcame me. Too connected to your stargazing eyes to bother thinking about how this might end. And now, after it's all come and gone, I can no longer feel your hand in mine.