I wish that I could tell you that the world stopped turning, that the sun fell out of the sky and grapes tumbled out of the wine-stained mouths of gods as they choked on the afterthoughts of grape seeds and ichor amazed and unamused with the sudden shift in winds. I wish I could tell you that the day after never came. SPOILER ALERT: it did. You left me and tomorrow still came anyway. I still don’t get it, B. I thought things were finally turning around, everything was coming up roses, the winds of change had blown you back on course, and maybe our shitty old human blood could have turned into ichor. I guess you thought you were invincible, fearing no death and praying to no gods. At your funeral, all your friends prayed to their gods and waited for me to join them there, but I never even came to the church- you would have hated that- crosses gold like ichor, stained amalgamation in glass windows, velvet curtains turning and billowing in torrent with ultraviolet ultraviolence as pirate ship sails in merciless winds. Instead, I let my bed swallow me like the Kraken, ignorant to the wicked waves and winds. Ripped apart in its bloody teeth like a plaything for cruel and vindictive gods. I cried until I forgot how not to cry and watched every night as the cruel and cold stars still came out, watched the colors of the sky all turning into each other, how numbgrey and starblue turned into bloodamber and ichor. Always like that, angstblack to ultraviolence to duskpink to the before of babyblue, the ichor. Remember that joke you told me about the 5 stages of grief and the 4 winds walking into a bar, and at the end, all of them turning to the bartender to ask for a shot of Patrón, because tequíla makes mortals feel like gods. This is how you first told me nothing lasts forever, later again in a tomorrow that still came despite the fact that I did not want it to, despite that you were gone and never coming back, never taking that shot of Patrón again, and making it seem like holy ambrosia and nectar, like your blood was ichor Like you were, in fact, invincible. Nothing lasts forever, because tomorrow came and yesterday ripped you from me like gods, like the Kraken, like wicked waves and winds. Your friends knew you didn’t believe and still, laid you in the dirt and prayed to their gods. If you had been completely buried already then, I know you would have been turning over in your grave, literally breathless with laughter as their “amen” was carried on the winds. Your veins did not hold gods’ ichor, just blood- human blood not meant for that many drugs I’ll tell you, tomorrow came. The world is still turning. I will miss you for the rest of my life.
Last Rites- Alex Castillo
