I held her as her breath came out shallow, looking fervently beneath half-shut eyelids, like a caged animal. Her pulse beat weakly back at my own, which was faltering in it's own right. Her skin was milk white, and I no better. She clutched at my arms, seeking an embrace she couldn't fully return. She had always seemed too fierce to die, too wild, too full of energy......

But here she lay, broken, in my arms. It was pitiful, horrible, torturous to be the only one there to witness her undoing. She was like a lion, an eagle, or some great, majestic beast that had been shot down and left crumpled on the ground.

She'd forget where she was during her last hours, at times. She'd look at me as if I had done this horrible injustice to her, and she would use all her limited, hazy power to wrest herself from me. but this would pass, and she would return to staring at me with a passion I had only just discovered.

That was the worst part. With the few words she could muster in those long, painful hours she had to finish her life with, she told me she loved me. How she had loved! She loved my timidness, my sensitivity, while the whole time I thought she thought me weak. We had only had each other fully in those last hours, and it was Hell for me, but she seemed happy, almost......

And yes, she finally passed. It was Death's best joke ever, unfortunately. He must have laughed his bony ass off at the irony he had laid so thick over her. A young woman with enough energy and to shame our infernal sun died shaking in my arms, the arms of a man who, despite all he had, couldn't save her.

Copyright 2007 Michael-Austin Witt
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