@prcmisingtalent
She was gone. She was gone. She was GONE.
Every day that simple fact ached more and more ; each day it gnawed away at him like an insistent thorn digging ever further into his side, like the dagger she may well have plunged into his heart. Each day he wasted further and further away, praying that soon he would be nothing at all. He longed for an end. Surely it was time --- past time --- for this reprieve to be granted him. After so many cursed years upon this earth, and nothing to show for it --- nothing but the people he’d managed to hurt, the damage he’d managed to inflict --- it must be time for the curtains to finally draw closed on this dreary and repugnant opera. No final bows, and certainly no encore. One final note, and then an end. It was no more than he deserved.
But this end did not come, and damn him he could not overcome his Catholic upbringing that had instilled in him an all too serious fear of hell. He had committed many sins in his life, but this was one he could not bring himself to commit. After all, any other sin brought with it a chance to repent. There was no absolution for the suicide. And so he lived. Miserably, but he lived. Most of his time was spent at his organ, whiling away hours upon hours in a stupor of sound. Half of what fell from his fingertips could hardly be called music. A jarble of choked notes, pure emotion, pure despair, as his home fell into ruin around him. The mob had left the place a wreck when they could not find him, and he hadn’t bothered to right any of it. ( What would be the point? )
This was where he was perched when he heard a sound from behind him, over the cacophony of chords. Surely it was nothing, another trick of his ever-unraveling mind. After all, he so often dreamed that she would return. This could only be another one of those visions. There was no way it was really HER.
