Petals & Whiskey
Trigger Warnings: Alcoholism, depictions of suffocation, death of character, slight cursing
Starting off into the distance of the wooded area, a gentle stream of rain seemed to subside momentarily. The night sky was stripped blank, not a star to be seen as grey clouds concealed the beauty of a once clear sky. The cabin sat lonesome in the small clearing around the woods, being surrounded by the void of silence as the woodland creatures that usually decorated the area with life could not be seen nor heard.
Made of rosewood, the cabin stood tall, as if it had recently been built in the previous years. The earthy scent of wood and petrichor filled the air, giving off a sense of numbing peace to the man who leaned on the varnished wood railing. He held his hands in front of him, a cheap glass filled with liquor in it, barely filled as his dull, blue eyes kept contact on it.
As he stared off, lost in the depths of his mind, a dry cough had escaped him. He withdrew one hand from his glass and covered his mouth, the cough seeming as nothing at first. A quick flash of pain expanded in his chest as another cough had escaped him. He knew better than to say it were nothing but a mere cough. The war that raged within not only in his mind, but now his body were more than obvious that it wasnāt nothing. He turned from the railing, going back from it as he set his glass down on the black, metal coffee table he had along with a wooden porch swing.
His coughing persisted, feeling the sharp little jabs in his lungs as he did so. The pain had been nothing before, but as the weeks persisted, his condition had only worsened. It would pass however, soon enough it would pass and he would have to wait until it returned once again. It was a fight that he would not win and he knew it. Acceptance to his arriving demise had already filled his mind, knowing there was not much time left.
The coughing had soon dispersed after minutes of him hacking from the dry cough. He pulled his hand from his mouth, staring down at it as a slight sense of emotional distress filled him. A blue rose petal, speckled in crimson blood had replaced his once clean hand. The reminder of his position felt like a stab to the chest as he stood, holding the beautiful rose petal in his pale, and now shaky hand.
Staring at the rose, his eyes starting to cloud as tears started to fill them. The pain he had felt in his chest not had only been from those damned thorns that were filling his lungs, but the pain of a broken heart also adding to his pain. The unrequited love he was subjected to had made the truth of this situation only more painful.
His time was coming and he knew it. It had only been a year and a half since he had been diagnosed with this disease, but death finally was coming to knock on his door. A chill ran down his spine, and he looked back over the porch and towards the woods. This was his final sight of the world and the tears that fell down his pale face only added to that realization.
Quickly he turned away and dropped the flower, the blood from it staining his hand as he reached for his glass. He downed the shot and went into his home, clearing his tears as his face contorted to a pained anger. Damn himself. Damn his heart for loving another and not thinking of the consequences.
Love was such a cruel thing. It was a curse. Disguised as a blessing until itās truths are revealed through pain. The time he had let his walls down was the signature to his demise. Such a tragic flaw, loving too much. A love for another so much he had forgotten a brutal truth. That love would never have been returned.
The love he had for the other was his curse, yet his blessing. As much as his mind screamed at itself to hate the other, to be furious and forget his love. The man knew deep down he couldnāt. He truly did love him more and that was his flaw. A true, yet unrequited, love was going to be his demise.
A sad chuckle erupted from the dark haired male, reaching the kitchen as he poured himself another shot of whiskey. He had retreated to these woods to move on from his past regrets in his final moments. Yet here he was, reliving them time and again as the memories he wished would go away simply would not.
He drank his liquor, washing down the copper taste of blood with a burn of whiskey that soon uncovered multiple lacerations on the inside of his esophagus from the thorns. He knew there were more internal injuries and scars from the flowers, but he ignored the pain and continued to drink. As he drank, he shit his eyes for a moment and let his head fill with thoughts.
How were his friends and family doing in his absence? After his diagnosis, he had started to isolate himself slowly to do his best to move from what was happening to him in a state of denial. He had angered many, refusing to get the surgery and turning into an emotionless person. Fights had broken out and many words left unspoken. Months of isolation went around, until he had finally moved to where he were now.
Alone in the middle of a vast forest utterly alone for who knows how much longer. The only contact he had to the outside world he had was his supply runs which were always rare. He knew how to fend for himself so there was not much he needed from the outside world.
He opened his eyes, his blue orbs looking around as they took everything in once more. His body felt weak as his thoughts of his family dissipated into the back of his mind. The bottle of alcohol on the counter stood, the amber color luring him in. That color reminded him all to much of the other. āHis eyes were the same color.ā He thought to himself, before taking a drink from his glass.
The whiskey colored eyes he loved so dearly were always going to be something that haunted him even after he slept in a grave. At the thought of those dreamy eyes had put him into another heartfelt state, leading him to have another coughing fit. Pain erupted once more in his lungs and throat as his hand once again, held those same blue petals. More blood was evident, even having partial blood spewing from his mouth from where he coughed up a few thorns as well.
āRoses and the color blue..ā he stared at his hand and suppressed a cough the best he could, thoughts filling his head as he couldnāt take his eyes off the flower. āThey were what he liked..ā Another cough had escaped him and he silently cursed himself, downing another shot to try and clear the dryness he felt in his throat.
There was no stopping what was coming. He knew it. As much as he wished there was another way he had known he wasnāt going to make it. Death was approaching his door, and it was coming quickly. However, he never would have guessed that his death would have been because of a broken heart. A broken heart is what had gave him this cruel disease and would be the cause of his death. Suffocation due to the flowers he refused to get surgery for.
In his mind he knew he should have gotten the surgery, yet in his heart he never would have. He loved to much and he didnāt want the forced removal of the flowers to be a reason why he became so numb to emotion. What would a life be if he couldnāt be anything other than numb? Just to exist without feeling..it was something he knew he would never deal with.
Thatās how he knew, if he were to go through this time and again, he would always chose to suffer in pain, yet still be able to love. What was love if there was no pain to help it grow?
Slowly, he trudged towards his bedroom as he did his best to breathe. He had a slight wheeze every time he took a breath in, feeling it to be difficult to intake oxygen. His time was arriving and he knew it. With that same bottle of whiskey in one hand -leaving his glass in the kitchen- and the blue rose petals he coughed up in the other, he sat down on his bed. On his nightstand he had a journal laid out. There he knew his last words would be, those last words that would do their best to keep his memory alive after he was dead and gone.
Tears started to fall down his face freely and he had let them. Memories ran through his mind and all he could do was lift the whiskey to his slightly chapped lips and drink. Tears fell and the alcohol went down, trying to numb the internal pain he felt.
He finally had enough, setting the now half empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand by the journal, and placing the petals beside it. He sat there, taking in the memories he had over those two items in his life, knowing their significance was more then what one on the outside would see.
Those two items were what connected him to the other. They kept the memories and stories only those two would have known. It was their connection in and out of this world.
The brunet male lifted his shaky legs onto the bed and laid down, staring up at the ceiling as he could feel his breathing get harder. It was a struggle to breathe, each breath harder than the last to take in. Pain erupted in his chest as the thorns dug their home in his chest, and the blue roses took up the space he needed so desperately. He wouldnāt make it through the night and he knew it.
However, his tears had stopped, and a gentle smile appeared on his face as he stared up at the white ceiling of his. A sudden wave of peace had overcome him. The pain seemed to dull slightly, and he couldnāt help but grin to the high heavens as he felt relief. He could still feel. He could still love until his dying second. And even after, he would continue to love no matter where his next life would take him. His time was here, and he could hear the footsteps of death silently approaching from the distance.
Every fiber of his being was filled with peace. Even though his body and he was struggling to breathe, he had shut his eyes and continued to focus on that feeling on love. The entirety of what brought him to where he was now. Deathās door was opening. But he wasnāt scared. A single tear ran down his face once more, as he couldnāt feel any air reach his lungs anymore. The flowers had taken over his lungs whilst the whiskey had numbed the pain the best it could. His time was finally here. He was dying.
Yet all he could think of, was the whiskey and petals that connected him to the one he loved the mostā¦
Three Weeks Later
The distant sound of church bells rang, letting out their cry out as the hour had reached one in the afternoon. The day had been cloudy, yet not a speck of rain could be seen. It was silent throughout the graveyard and nearly empty.
Except for one man who stood in front of a slightly fresh grave. The tall figure stood, staring at the headstone before him. His amber colored eyes looked at the grave with intensity, whilst his face revealed no emotions. His formal attire was all dark, and in his hand he crouched down, placing a single blue rose on the grave.
āOh you fool Sorin,ā he said softly, the whiskey colored eyes glancing up towards the sky momentarily. He hoped wherever the man was that his voice could possibly be heard, even though it were impossible. āI loved you as wellā¦ā His voice came out shaky, his face finally falling as his bottom lip trembled momentarily. A tear had escaped his eye and slowly the man stood up, turning away from the grave.
As he started to walk away, something had caught at the back of his throat and he stopped. He cleared his throat and let out a hefty cough into his hand. The cough had cleared and he started to walk again, feeling as if nothing had really happened and it was fine.
However, in the palm of his hand, now laid a single red rose petal.
