It's Still Beating
W E B O T H G O D O W N T O G E T H E R
Running. We've been running for so long. It's only natural that our fall would come around. We weren't like them, not yet.
When your hand slipped from mine, it took me a moment to stop and look over my shoulder. By then it was much too late.
You clambered to your tired feet and caught up to me, and together we hid in a corner that we couldn't really call ours.
Our eyes met, and mine mirrored the guilt in yours. I wished I could make it dissipate instead.
"I'm sorry, I tripped..." Your voice quivered like a baby bird, and I could only whisper to quell an irrepressible fear.
I shook my head, and meant every word I said. "It's not your fault."
"It won't be long now," you told yourself, or me, I didn't know. I closed my eyes and tried to be grateful that you weren't like them, not yet.
We waited. If I could take your pain alongside my own, I would.
"You should go," and even before you spoke it I was sure the answer would be no.
"I'm right where I'm supposed to be." Beside you, but I didn't voice it aloud in case it became trite. It was the truth.
Your skin paled, transparent like parchment, veins periwinkle up your arms. Your lovely eyes clouded over - not with tears - and from your mouth you spat dark bile.
"I'm scared." Your voice was raspy, fading. I was, too, but I pushed my body upon yours, hoping we could crush the horrors between us. I didn't know how cold a person could be until then.
We were quiet, but the same could not be said of where we were. Our world was dying, but I felt a tremble in your chest that made my eyes water.
I pressed into your hair the softest sob. "It's still beating." I could imagine lifting that tangled mass of muscle and arteries in my palms, kissing the pulse with my mouth. My lips cradling your blood, the only part of you still warm. No tumble could tear us apart.
There was no chance to murmur it to you, because you've taken me down, gone somewhere I'd soon follow. We'd leave our bodies rotting amongst everyone else's.
Rotting, and again, we were running.
When your hand slipped from mine, it took me a moment to stop and look over my shoulder. By then it was much too late.
You clambered to your tired feet and caught up to me, and together we hid in a corner that we couldn't really call ours.
Our eyes met, and mine mirrored the guilt in yours. I wished I could make it dissipate instead.
"I'm sorry, I tripped..." Your voice quivered like a baby bird, and I could only whisper to quell an irrepressible fear.
I shook my head, and meant every word I said. "It's not your fault."
"It won't be long now," you told yourself, or me, I didn't know. I closed my eyes and tried to be grateful that you weren't like them, not yet.
We waited. If I could take your pain alongside my own, I would.
"You should go," and even before you spoke it I was sure the answer would be no.
"I'm right where I'm supposed to be." Beside you, but I didn't voice it aloud in case it became trite. It was the truth.
Your skin paled, transparent like parchment, veins periwinkle up your arms. Your lovely eyes clouded over - not with tears - and from your mouth you spat dark bile.
"I'm scared." Your voice was raspy, fading. I was, too, but I pushed my body upon yours, hoping we could crush the horrors between us. I didn't know how cold a person could be until then.
We were quiet, but the same could not be said of where we were. Our world was dying, but I felt a tremble in your chest that made my eyes water.
I pressed into your hair the softest sob. "It's still beating." I could imagine lifting that tangled mass of muscle and arteries in my palms, kissing the pulse with my mouth. My lips cradling your blood, the only part of you still warm. No tumble could tear us apart.
There was no chance to murmur it to you, because you've taken me down, gone somewhere I'd soon follow. We'd leave our bodies rotting amongst everyone else's.
Rotting, and again, we were running.