A Sorrowful February

This came to me in a dream on a Sunday morning during the Mardi Gras season of 2003.  That dream was probably one of the driving forces behind what made me decide to start writing.  There were other factors that influenced my writing, but this probably was the catalyst.  Although I didn’t actually begin writing until that April.  I also plan to write an in depth essay on all of the factors that caused my mind to be creative.  Hopefully I’ll do this in the not-so-distant future.

Without further a do, here is the short story:

It was a brisk Saturday afternoon in February; there we were, two soul mates; young, in love and on the run. We lived under a Totalitarian government where corruption ran rampant. Despite the miserable life in our city, we found true love and happiness in each other. Hand in hand we walked the streets so much in love. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other, despite all public displays of affection being strongly frowned upon by the cruel customs of our dystopian society. I could not stop touching her and she could not stop kissing me.  We were looking for a place to consummate our love and found an abandoned warehouse near the busy railroad yard.  We smashed a window, then climbed in. The interior was dark and damp, but our raging hormones overpowered and impaired our better judgement. We commenced our lovemaking with exceeding passions, then cuddled into the night under a discarded tarpaulin.  Blissfully, we slept in each others’ arms.  Under the light of a full moon, angry lawmen in S.W.A.T. gear stormed the building and arrested us. These hateful men also planted narcotics in our clothing-possession of which carried a penalty of death.  The horrible officers cuffed us and we were transported to the police headquarters building.  They housed us in separate cells.  Every time we tried to talk to each other, we were flogged with batons.  We learned that we were to be executed at dawn.  Deep anxiety filled our hearts and minds like never before.  At least we shared the joy of fully knowing each other and no one could take that away from us.  We were then ordered to be silent. Suddenly but, miraculously the building collapsed.  My lover was injured internally, but unbeknownst to her as a result.

When the dust settled, I found her trembling with fear, but overjoyed to see me.

“Take my hand, baby, ’cause we’re walking out of here,” I told her, assuredly.

She nodded, then hugged me with great strength and we headed out.
We began walking parallel to the train tracks, hoping to leave this wretched city once and for all.
Feeling victorious, we held each other closely and we walked into the early morning hours.

Suddenly, at dawn, my lover collapsed in the grass along the right of way. I tried to revive her but couldn’t. I listened for her heartbeat, but heard nothing.  She was dead. I stayed by her body weeping bitterly.
It was now sunrise and the train master saw us.  He offered me his phone to call her family.

I called them and then waited, filled with matchless sadness and unparalleled anguish.

In time, they arrived in a blue pickup and placed her body in the truck bed.  I laid next to her with great sorrow.

Days later, at her memorial service, I walked up to her open casket with a pistol in hand and blew my brains out.

Suddenly, I woke up, all alone in my bed. It was a dreary Sunday morning.
I walked to the family computer and began to write while listening to music.

Back to “Very Sad/Very Short Stories”

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