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Every night I close my eyes and your face races through my mind. Only...it isn't how I want to remember it. I see your eyes, wide with shock, blood pooling around your hair, staining it a deep crimson colour that I wish I could erase from my mind. But the image. The image of you, once so fantastically amazing, is now tainted with this new image: the image of you...dead. Literally and figuratively. The image of you is dead, replaced by the image of you - dead. I wish I could forget. Forget that single night. Just that night. That night alone.
The guilt of it is unbearable, unrelenting. Not only was my image of you destroyed, but I lost the image I once had of myself. The girl I knew both barely yet all the same too well. Now an even more imperfect piece of artwork thrust upon this world; her hands are stained a wine colour, and she is nothing more than a coward, too afraid to live on but even more afraid to die. I can't shake the image from my head of the other girl; the one who didn't deserve what happened to her but ended up suffering the drunken rage of the girl with the scarlet-coloured hands. The hands that belong to me but all the same do not.
I am not a murderer. Sometimes I think I am. Or that I might be. 'It was an accident.' 'You weren't in your right mind.' That's what they said at least. That, and countless other things of the like. I have to believe that it could have been, only I don't entirely believe that it was. I did mean to hurt her - that was all too clearly intentional - but not for her to die. They're right when they say that your natural 'fight-or-flight' instinct kicks in when you're in trouble. Running was both the worst and the best decision I could have made that night.
I wonder sometimes, if I could go back to that night, if I wouldn't have run, knowing what I know now. Maybe if I hadn't run, you would still be alive. Because that's how Karma works, right? If I had stayed, that girl may have lived, and Karma wouldn't have had to step in to make things 'right.' I'd like to think that's how it has to work; at the same time, though, I don't because that doesn't seem entirely fair. Not to me at least.
I have these thoughts a lot, you know. Wishing that I could turn back time, while at the same time never wanting to really go back to that night. The night. A year ago. A year ago... I feel like I learned important lessons though. I think the most important being how fragile lives really are. How quickly they may be stripped from this soil, whether by a malicious god or by Death himself.
I have also wondered whether Death takes the shape of a man or rather a woman. Maybe Death takes neither form and is simply some sort of apparition - maybe a demon even - but I guess you can't be completely sure unless you meet Death face-to-face. Which seems somewhat unfair because then only the dead would know the true appearance of Death. Rewarding the dead with being able to see him - her - it. That would mean that Death would have to be really beautiful. If someone living could see Death, in all of their beauty and wonder, more people would wish for their deaths. That would be my guess, anyway, Jade thought. She had a tendency to enact inner monologues with herself, thinking and brooding over past events. She figured it might help her figure out how to rid of her nightmares. She decided it might be a good idea to get up and get out, to clear her head.
She stood, leaving her bed behind her and put on a coat. It was late, and she could hear thunder, but she couldn't stay in her room any longer without driving herself crazy with her own thoughts. She made her way toward the beach, the clouds in the sky obscuring the moon so intensely that there was little light besides the occasional strike of lightning. She kicked off her flip flops and picked them up in her hand, pulling her jacket more closed with the other. It was windy, but there wasn't yet any rain. She stepped into the sand, feeling the cold grains sink between her toes. She could feel her hair whipping about as she walked along the shoreline, staying far enough away from the water to keep from getting wet. As she walked, she could feel the wind lashing sand at her bare legs. She wished she had changed into jeans rather than wearing her soft, pajama shorts. It was a warm night, but the wind was making her cold.
As she round a corner, the wind died down significantly, making her feel better. As she continued, a lightning flash illuminated the silhouette of something in the sand. As she drew closer, she could see that it was a person. Drawing nearer still, she saw that it was Aeshan, someone she didn't know too well, but knew nonetheless. Everyone knew everyone here, the island was so small. She glided up to him and sat beside him. "It's a nice night. Just wish it wasn't this night." She knew that he would understand what she meant. She hadn't been the only one to lose someone close to them this night, a year ago.
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24 May 2016, he thought to himself as he wrote the date down in his diary. He hadn't been able to sleep, knowing that today would mark the one year anniversary of his best friend's death. He still couldn't believe that it had already been a year. He wasn't sure how he had been making it through it besides just trying his hardest to stick it out with high school. He had graduated this year, and he didn't know what he was going to do now. He had debated trying to pursue music, but he didn't think that his piano playing was up to par. He had always loved writing but wasn't sure if he could make a living or a career out of it. He felt lost and hopeless, but more than anything, he felt alone.
Today marks the one year 'anniversary' of her death, he wrote. Now that I'm finished with high school, my future seems bleak, but I at least have Sen to help me through things. Though it usually feels more like I'm helping him through things. Tonight also marks the death of his girlfriend. Jonathan had a difficult time writing the words. He still felt like the reason that Sen's girlfriend wasn't alive anymore. He hadn't known it at the time, but when he and Sen had started seeing each other, Sen had been in a relationship.
Now, Jonathan found himself consoling Sen on the regular as Sen drank himself silly, more often than not. It was always painful, for both of them, but he knew that tonight - today - was going to be worse.
There was a knock at his bedroom door. His mother spoke through it. "You have a phone call. Next time your friends call you this late, you're grounded." He wondered who would be calling him this late, now that he thought about it. He had a guess, but he hoped he was wrong. He made his way to the kitchen and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" he said softly. "Jomafem..." Jonathan closed his eyes. He had been correct; it was Sen, drunk. "Sen, why are you calling so late?" he whispered. "I - hic - ned oo ta cuh oh-verrrr..." "Okay. Sit tight..." He hung up the phone quickly and slipped on his shoes, heading over to Sen's as quickly as he could walk.
When he got there, Sen was lying on his front lawn, his arms and legs spread out as if he was attempting to look like a starfish. "Sen..." he muttered as he knelt by him. "Huh? Jomafem!" Sen's eyes were glassy and not focusing. Jonathan sat him up and stepped inside, coming back out after a minute or so with a glass of water. "Drink." Sen surprisingly did as he was told, downing the entire cup. "Come on. Let's go for a walk." He lifted Sen's arm over his shoulders and stood him up. He made their way toward the beach, hoping the cool breeze that was always blowing across the water would help.
There was a lightning flash, and he sighed, hoping that the rain wouldn't start. It was warm and as they came to the beach, he could see two others sitting on the beach together. Another flash. He could make out a head of short, blonde hair, and he instantly knew who it was. It was Jade, the girl who had unintentionally murdered his best friend. He didn't hate her though; he knew it wasn't entirely her fault. He especially didn't hate her because she had also ended up losing someone that night. He took notice of the boy sitting beside her, and he knew him as well. It seemed that, on this night, the year after the deaths, the four people who had lost someone close to them were unintentionally reuniting.