Status: Weekly updates,
You Make Me Sick
August 2, 1852
His illness was progressing further, and finally after a week his mentor relented. Admitting it was no witch, but death, that had touched Pierce. And though he was happy to be rid o the priests and the constant praying, the fact he could now taste the reaper on his tongue gave him an unsettling feeling. His mind now thought of Abby nonstop. He needed to see her before...well...
the inevitable.
Coughing as he sat up in bed, the poet grappled around for his quill and page.
He had lost his vision days before. His mentor that day had said, "Death never wants you to see him, his angels must remain a secret." Miss Bethany stopped visiting after that.
After some rummaging, loud footsteps rang out against the floorboards.
"What do you need me to write, my boy?" His mentor's voice slurred, a soft and sad voice it was.
His drinking had increased since he lost his sight, he didn't need his vision to realize that. Pierce sighed and shook his head,
"It's too personal, I'd like to try and write it myself."
"Just be slow." Was the advice as he felt the quill being slipped into his fingers and the blank page of paper being set on his lap.
The male nodded shortly before beginning. The words rang loud in his mind, but on the page, they were merely squiggles and some vague resemblance of letters.
What he wanted to write was simple-
"Abigale, do you think we could meet in your time if I die here?
I love you my dear, I do.
You've been absent, I'm afraid you are worsening just as I.
Please, I will spare you with my soul.
Despite the time, I know God will comply to this plea.
Perhaps it wasn't simple, or short, but it was a promise he wanted written. He even signed his name like it was a contract. His mentor took the paper, trying to decipher the sloppy mess before giving up and burying it into another paper-filled drawer.
"I'd like to try and sleep again." Pierce murmured.
"Alright..if you need anything.."
"I'll call."
The footsteps departed without another word.
Sighing, Pierce closed his eyes and fell. Sleeping now felt like jumping from a high cliff. He just fell, and landed abruptly on his back in a black room. His meadow thrown away it seems, the sickness had taken that from him as well.
But to his surprise..there it was.
_____________________
His eyes watered with the overwhelming joy as he stared at the cabin, the tall grass. He inhaled the fresh breeze heavily, trying to memorize the dream-scent. And there, amidst it all was the one thing he wanted to see. And how lovely it was to see. He had already forgotten what it was like.
Abby.
He ran, very well sprinted, to her side before she could disappear and held onto her tightly.
"Abigale." He whispered into her hair. "We finally meet once more...I fear...for the last."
the inevitable.
Coughing as he sat up in bed, the poet grappled around for his quill and page.
He had lost his vision days before. His mentor that day had said, "Death never wants you to see him, his angels must remain a secret." Miss Bethany stopped visiting after that.
After some rummaging, loud footsteps rang out against the floorboards.
"What do you need me to write, my boy?" His mentor's voice slurred, a soft and sad voice it was.
His drinking had increased since he lost his sight, he didn't need his vision to realize that. Pierce sighed and shook his head,
"It's too personal, I'd like to try and write it myself."
"Just be slow." Was the advice as he felt the quill being slipped into his fingers and the blank page of paper being set on his lap.
The male nodded shortly before beginning. The words rang loud in his mind, but on the page, they were merely squiggles and some vague resemblance of letters.
What he wanted to write was simple-
"Abigale, do you think we could meet in your time if I die here?
I love you my dear, I do.
You've been absent, I'm afraid you are worsening just as I.
Please, I will spare you with my soul.
Despite the time, I know God will comply to this plea.
Perhaps it wasn't simple, or short, but it was a promise he wanted written. He even signed his name like it was a contract. His mentor took the paper, trying to decipher the sloppy mess before giving up and burying it into another paper-filled drawer.
"I'd like to try and sleep again." Pierce murmured.
"Alright..if you need anything.."
"I'll call."
The footsteps departed without another word.
Sighing, Pierce closed his eyes and fell. Sleeping now felt like jumping from a high cliff. He just fell, and landed abruptly on his back in a black room. His meadow thrown away it seems, the sickness had taken that from him as well.
But to his surprise..there it was.
_____________________
His eyes watered with the overwhelming joy as he stared at the cabin, the tall grass. He inhaled the fresh breeze heavily, trying to memorize the dream-scent. And there, amidst it all was the one thing he wanted to see. And how lovely it was to see. He had already forgotten what it was like.
Abby.
He ran, very well sprinted, to her side before she could disappear and held onto her tightly.
"Abigale." He whispered into her hair. "We finally meet once more...I fear...for the last."