I have long prepared myself to the idea of death – I believe in its terrible beauty that sinks into your skin. Others portray a flamed-covered, sweat explosions spot of death, but mine is a wintery touch and white castle imagination. Inside the castle are those who believe me – we will live in a fruitful cold life.
This invades my head as I twist my wedding ring, just below the post of the stoplight for the pedestrian lane. The gold band shimmers as it catches the pale gleam of the sunlight. When she gave it to my finger, there was a rare excitement speaking within her eyes – I warmly embraced it as my own.
Two years later, the passion died and I was the only one who could not accept it.
When I witnessed the new brightness in her eyes this morning as she caressed my best friend’s cheek with her thumb, – both bare in our king-sized bed – I felt hollow and no wrath. I was just empty.
The signal goes green and I cross the lane.
But the driver must have missed it when his car crashes against my hip and all I could feel are pools of thick liquid.
WORD COUNT: 200
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