Hello Internet! Here we are again at Monday Spark. A little bit of flash fiction to get your week off on the right foot. Have you been digging the Monday Sparks? Share with your buddies on social media. Tweet, Tag, Click, and Share away! Today’s prompt features that love comes with responsibility, but is it worth it?
by Lex Chase
Prompt: After a tragic accident, a friend swears you to secrecy he wished everyone didn’t make it.
Slow and labored, as if each step they took was an insurmountable chore upon the last. Painful to watch, an outsider like myself peeking into this tiny private window he had offered me. They twirled and spun as if on physical eggshells as their verbal banter was dealt just as timidly over metaphorical ones.
It was a fragile, but not delicate thing. Not delicate in the way of needing to be handled with care, but in the way of it needed to be cut away quickly before the illness spread to the rest of the body. The frailty of her body as her eyes strained to focus on him, to focus on her love for him. The steady nigh mechanical precision of his body, his eyes focused to pinpricks, not a soul to be seen.
He didn’t love her.
He reviled her, the very idea of touching her bare skin, the sating of baser instincts, it made his stomach twist with revulsion to the point that merely thinking about her calling his name in a moment of passion sent him dashing to the toilet to expel her taste from his mouth.
He had revealed this to me, the late nights of sitting up because the demons that lurked just behind his eyelids were waiting. He’d tell me stories of how he blamed himself for the accident. The moment that he was at his lowest he had wished with all his heart she wouldn’t survive to see the next pale dawn.
The tragic accident robbed her of one arm, and made him an unwilling father. In those late nights, I could see the glassy wetness in his eyes as he blamed himself for not choking the very breath out of her. For hesitating. For not destroying the one thing that would forever bind him to her.
The one thing that would keep him from becoming a god.
And here, this would-be god and this mortal crippled woman dance. Damaged in their own way. Hearts breaking and bleeding with each pivot and turn. Her eyes moist with adoration, and his like steel and never waver in the breeze of loving warmth.
They knew the dance was over before it began. Their lives were at an impasse before the journey got underway.
He knew of the destiny he must fulfill and wore it around his neck like a well hidden hangman’s noose that only the most well discerned eyes could see. She was so blind to anything but her grief, want, need, and mortality that she will never see he had transcended all of that. That he, in his own mind, had become her unwilling savior.
Copyright © 2015 Lex Chase. All rights reserved.