I’ll Never Feel Alone Again With You by My Side
I'll Never Feel Alone Again With You by My Side
Shiloh Mod was an orphan.
Not only that, she was a nineteen year old orphan. And as if that wasn't enough, she was a nineteen year old orphan who had her lip pierced and was famous in high school for driving an electric blue Thunderbird convertible. So basically, she was an orphan who scored minimal on the pity scale, which, one would assume, is the only perk of being an orphan in the first place. So basically, Shiloh Mod was doomed.
This all came into realization as she gazed at the new, crisply chiseled tombstone in front her which read 'Jelena Mod.' Her mother.
Shiloh was able to tell herself that this was it. I am really alone, she thought. And not even in a metaphorical way like 'no one understands me' or anything like that. She was seriously alone. She had no family left to help her. Not a father, nor a mother. She had no extended family, at least that she knew of. And with all the "charming" people here in her little hometown on the outskirts of New York, the funeral mainly consisted of herself, her boyfriend Synyster Gates [who called off the last three weeks of his band, Avenged Sevenfold’s, latest tour to spend this time with Shiloh], a priest they found on the Internet, Mrs. Hutchins [who attended every funeral, wedding, and spelling bee in the entire county] and Old Mr. Whilst [for whom posterity will recognize as the crazy guy who was usually too drunk to realize where he was.]
She had stayed at Synyster’s apartment the night after the funeral, but Shiloh quietly grabbed her navy blue pea coat and snuck out early the following morning to go to the local cemetery. It wasn't that she needed to be alone; she'd have plenty of time for that later. She just needed to be with her mom, which is how she found herself here.
Shiloh had been rooted to the same plot of earth long enough for a light dusting of November snow to collect on her coat.
She felt a violent shiver shake through her shoulders. "Well… no point standing in this necropolis and becoming a human snow cone." She thought to herself. With one last look at the marble grave, she trudged back to the Thunderbird. Synyster was leaning against it, looking perfectly in place with his ghostly skin in this snowy city of death.
He offered his black cloak. “Much too cold for that old coat of yours,” he said quietly.
Shiloh sighed tiredly- she had been tired for what felt like years now. “Thanks, Syn,” she whispered as she shut her eyes and listened to the wintery bluster. He knew that she was referring to something much greater than the coat.
“Anything for you, Shiloh. There will always be bad times, but I’m here to get you through them. Always.”
Shiloh opened her hazel eyes again and leaned against Synyster’s strong, tattooed figure. He placed a protective arm around her and squeezed it gently.
“I know, hun. I know.”
They stood in silence for quite some time- as still as the bodies resting six feet under their shoes.
“She’d be proud of you, you know,” Synyster whispered after awhile.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well,” he continued, “you have been so beautifully strong. Stronger than anyone would ever expect you to be.”
“Do I really have any other choice?”
“Well, yes,” Synyster responded. “So many people would tuck themselves away- try to pretend like nothing bad had ever happened. But you were given this heartbreaking situation and you faced it head on. I can’t even imagine how hard that would be... to suddenly feel so alone... I’ll always love you, Shiloh, for every little thing about you. But I will always admire you for the grace and strength you have shown through all of this.”
Shiloh turned into Synyster and stepped onto her tiptoes, reaching up to touch his cheek and give him a grateful kiss.
“I’m not alone,” she whispered into his lips. “I’ll never feel alone again with you by my side.”
Not only that, she was a nineteen year old orphan. And as if that wasn't enough, she was a nineteen year old orphan who had her lip pierced and was famous in high school for driving an electric blue Thunderbird convertible. So basically, she was an orphan who scored minimal on the pity scale, which, one would assume, is the only perk of being an orphan in the first place. So basically, Shiloh Mod was doomed.
This all came into realization as she gazed at the new, crisply chiseled tombstone in front her which read 'Jelena Mod.' Her mother.
Shiloh was able to tell herself that this was it. I am really alone, she thought. And not even in a metaphorical way like 'no one understands me' or anything like that. She was seriously alone. She had no family left to help her. Not a father, nor a mother. She had no extended family, at least that she knew of. And with all the "charming" people here in her little hometown on the outskirts of New York, the funeral mainly consisted of herself, her boyfriend Synyster Gates [who called off the last three weeks of his band, Avenged Sevenfold’s, latest tour to spend this time with Shiloh], a priest they found on the Internet, Mrs. Hutchins [who attended every funeral, wedding, and spelling bee in the entire county] and Old Mr. Whilst [for whom posterity will recognize as the crazy guy who was usually too drunk to realize where he was.]
She had stayed at Synyster’s apartment the night after the funeral, but Shiloh quietly grabbed her navy blue pea coat and snuck out early the following morning to go to the local cemetery. It wasn't that she needed to be alone; she'd have plenty of time for that later. She just needed to be with her mom, which is how she found herself here.
Shiloh had been rooted to the same plot of earth long enough for a light dusting of November snow to collect on her coat.
She felt a violent shiver shake through her shoulders. "Well… no point standing in this necropolis and becoming a human snow cone." She thought to herself. With one last look at the marble grave, she trudged back to the Thunderbird. Synyster was leaning against it, looking perfectly in place with his ghostly skin in this snowy city of death.
He offered his black cloak. “Much too cold for that old coat of yours,” he said quietly.
Shiloh sighed tiredly- she had been tired for what felt like years now. “Thanks, Syn,” she whispered as she shut her eyes and listened to the wintery bluster. He knew that she was referring to something much greater than the coat.
“Anything for you, Shiloh. There will always be bad times, but I’m here to get you through them. Always.”
Shiloh opened her hazel eyes again and leaned against Synyster’s strong, tattooed figure. He placed a protective arm around her and squeezed it gently.
“I know, hun. I know.”
They stood in silence for quite some time- as still as the bodies resting six feet under their shoes.
“She’d be proud of you, you know,” Synyster whispered after awhile.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well,” he continued, “you have been so beautifully strong. Stronger than anyone would ever expect you to be.”
“Do I really have any other choice?”
“Well, yes,” Synyster responded. “So many people would tuck themselves away- try to pretend like nothing bad had ever happened. But you were given this heartbreaking situation and you faced it head on. I can’t even imagine how hard that would be... to suddenly feel so alone... I’ll always love you, Shiloh, for every little thing about you. But I will always admire you for the grace and strength you have shown through all of this.”
Shiloh turned into Synyster and stepped onto her tiptoes, reaching up to touch his cheek and give him a grateful kiss.
“I’m not alone,” she whispered into his lips. “I’ll never feel alone again with you by my side.”