#when she died

[starlightsuffered]

When She Died

Warnings - character death, pain, anguish, trashing a place, sickness, use of the voice, threatening genocide, losing a parent, losing a wife, ripping clothes, broken heart

"No, no!" Paul was sobbing, snot dripped down his face, but he didn't care. She was so drenched with sweat that she kept nearly slipping from his grasp.

"Paul, my love," her voice was rasping, the abrasions on her skin were nearly too gruesome to behold. He was sobbing. The pain inside him was worse than the box, worse than losing his father, worse than the visions he'd seen. To lose his love, his wife?

"Daddy, what's happening," little Zipporah asked.

"Nothing," he said a little too sharply, as he tried to attend to his wife. "Mommy will be absolutely fine."

"Don't lie to her Paul," she heaved, a bout of coughing over taking her.

"If you die, I'll kill every Fremen in existence," Paul snarled. "I'll obliterate them!"

"No, my love, you must choose peace, it is the only way you won't become like the emperor. I need you to promise not to hurt them. We came into their territory," she said, kind even nearing death.

"I promise, but then you have to stay with me," he begged.

"Y-you know I'm fading fast," she choked.

"No, no, you can't, I can't lose you," he wept, clutching her to him, since she had no strength left.

"I love you Zipporah," she crackled, and Paul heard the sobs coming from the little girl. They mirrored his own.

"Please, don't," he pleaded.

"I love you Paul," she said, and the light faded from her eyes.

"NO!" Paul screamed and then he was screaming more, so loud his daughter covered her ears. Half of him was gone, half his heart, half his soul, it had died with his wife.

"COME BACK!" He used the voice, but it didn't work on those who could not hear.

"LIVE!" He tried to command, but she did not. He got up and in his anger he began to trash the tent. He screamed and tore his clothes, he threw things around, and stomped on equipment.

"Daddy, I'm scared," Zipporah said, tears streaming down her small face, as she clutched a ragged bunny that had somehow survived all this.

He softened a little. Now that half his heart was gone, he had to protect the other half, no matter what. He knelt on the ground, and took his daughter into his arms.

"Daddy is never going to let anything bad happen to you ever again. Do you hear me darling. Nothing, and I mean nothing will come between us," he said to her.

"I know daddy," she said, sniffling into his shoulder.

"Nothing, nothing," he repeated over and over as he rocked her.

[tmbatcat]

will show more when I'm actually done with the school project but god do I love how stupid and depressed and wet I made this guy

[milkyplier]

She lived outside more than in, but she knew where home was. It was common to see her lying in the garden or on the front porch. She would stare inside the house, but if you opened the door, she wouldn’t come inside. She looked grumpy, and terrorized the neighborhood dogs. More than one person was wary to pet or pick her up. Not me. I would go to pick her up and she would put her paws on my shoulder, as if to say “Yes, I want to be picked up.” I would scratch her and she loved it, and when she was ready to get down, she would get down. An older couple lived across the street from us, and they didn’t have any of their own cats, but they bought treats just for her anyway. She would hang out on their porch, too. She was a neighborhood cat, in many ways, and despite her dangerous reputation and ornery expression, everybody loved her.

In her final month, she was diagnosed with heart disease. At 15, it wasn’t surprising. Early last week, she stopped eating. A few days later, she disappeared. I searched for her. I called her name and shook the box of cat treats—a ritual with her. She never came. We all knew she was probably gone; she’d had disappearing spells in the past, but never preceded by a lack of appetite. Never under these circumstances. I still hoped she would come back.

In a way, she did. We arrived home from Church on Sunday, talking about searching for her again, and we found her. Lying on our front porch for the last time, wrapped in a plastic trash bag. We suspected the people who had come to take away the trees—fallen during Hurricane Milton and currently lying at the side of the road, to be taken away—had found her in one of the many piles, and somehow knew where to take her home. Her eyes were open, unseeing. I have read about the coldness of death, but not the hurt of really feeling it beneath fingers, tangled in fur that is still soft.

I have never lost a pet before. We rehomed our old dog when I was little, but he was happy and loved in his new home. My last moments with him were not a kiss transferred to an unfeeling forehead by my fingers. It hurts horribly. I slept so badly last night, my eyes ache from crying. At 15, Mittens was in my life for as long as I can remember.

I miss her.

Goodbye, Mittens. Dad says that animals go to Heaven, too, so I have asked the good Lord again and again to pet you for me, to give you a kiss and tell you that I love you. I will keep asking, until I can do it myself again.

[lemonsknqueezies]

Doing an experiment Reblog this with a description of your childhood comfort item and whether you still have it or not

[duendealexis]

I just found out my rat died and I'm like 800 miles away from home and I can't do anything, and my favorite flower died the same month as my other flower. Tulip, (the rat) and Lily (my cat) are now going to keep on playing together :(

[beneaththeredmoon-a-blog]

last post, but

[tmbatcat]

SCHOOL PROJECT <3

[tmbatcat]

The fetai