Yesterday.
The End.
A fierce storm shook a small house in Liverpool rapidly, making every single old piece of wood in the building creak with disgust. Inside, 37 year old Anna Elizabeth Kingston stood, frozen in front of her small television set. With each passing second, her eyes grew, and her vision blurred with tears. The man on the news’ voice was low, and deep. Threatening almost as he sputtered out the news that froze the world, not only Anna. But she didn’t care about the world. She didn’t care about the fancy deep voiced news reporter.
She clenched her fists, and could feel her fingernails digging into her palms, warm blood dripping down. But she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything. She couldn’t even feel it when her knees gave and she went tumbling to the ground, her red, shocked face slamming against the hard wood floor. Her long, flowing dark brown hair was spread out all around her, as she begin to take shorter breaths. She still couldn’t see, and she still couldn’t feel. By now she couldn’t breath. Her heart had just been ripped out of her by a cruel, cold hand. She let go of her now bright red and sticky hands, and clutched her chest. She brought one shaky hand up to her face, and felt warm rivers flowing down the side. Then, she was still, perfectly still. She was dreaming. This couldn’t really be happening. Then, it clicked. It was happening. The evil, greedy world really did to this to her. She let out a blood curdling scream which ended in hard sobs, and gasps. She couldn’t feel the sweet air filling her lungs anymore. She didn’t want to. She heard footsteps, slowly at first, and then speeding.
She just slowly stood again, ignoring the other presence in the room, which too, stopped dead as soon as they saw the news report. Silence fell on the small house again, seeping into the floorboards. Another strong gust of wind shook it, and sent shivers down Anna’s spine. The deep voice was still talking, and explaining. She didn’t want an explanation. She wanted him. She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. She quickly, with a small sting of hope deep inside of her, changed to the next news channel. Her heart instantly fell with a bang, and she could feel it shattering.
“Tonight, 45 minutes ago at 11:15, ex-Beatle John Lennon was officially pronounced dead in his place of residence, New York City. He was shot to death outside of his estate. The Murderer has been captured, and imprisoned. The motive is not yet clear, but witnesses say…”
She didn’t think that anything could top the last time she thought this.
'This, December 8, 1980, is the worst night of my life.'
She glanced over at the other person in the room, tears still spilling uncontrollably from her eyes, and started to cry harder.
He looked back over and fell to his knees, sobbing into his hands. The only words that he was saying that she could make out were “No… why did you do this to me, god? Why?”
She didn’t want to look at him anymore. He was a reflection. A Reflection, a memory… the past. Him. Him.
She clenched her fists, and could feel her fingernails digging into her palms, warm blood dripping down. But she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything. She couldn’t even feel it when her knees gave and she went tumbling to the ground, her red, shocked face slamming against the hard wood floor. Her long, flowing dark brown hair was spread out all around her, as she begin to take shorter breaths. She still couldn’t see, and she still couldn’t feel. By now she couldn’t breath. Her heart had just been ripped out of her by a cruel, cold hand. She let go of her now bright red and sticky hands, and clutched her chest. She brought one shaky hand up to her face, and felt warm rivers flowing down the side. Then, she was still, perfectly still. She was dreaming. This couldn’t really be happening. Then, it clicked. It was happening. The evil, greedy world really did to this to her. She let out a blood curdling scream which ended in hard sobs, and gasps. She couldn’t feel the sweet air filling her lungs anymore. She didn’t want to. She heard footsteps, slowly at first, and then speeding.
She just slowly stood again, ignoring the other presence in the room, which too, stopped dead as soon as they saw the news report. Silence fell on the small house again, seeping into the floorboards. Another strong gust of wind shook it, and sent shivers down Anna’s spine. The deep voice was still talking, and explaining. She didn’t want an explanation. She wanted him. She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. She quickly, with a small sting of hope deep inside of her, changed to the next news channel. Her heart instantly fell with a bang, and she could feel it shattering.
“Tonight, 45 minutes ago at 11:15, ex-Beatle John Lennon was officially pronounced dead in his place of residence, New York City. He was shot to death outside of his estate. The Murderer has been captured, and imprisoned. The motive is not yet clear, but witnesses say…”
She didn’t think that anything could top the last time she thought this.
'This, December 8, 1980, is the worst night of my life.'
She glanced over at the other person in the room, tears still spilling uncontrollably from her eyes, and started to cry harder.
He looked back over and fell to his knees, sobbing into his hands. The only words that he was saying that she could make out were “No… why did you do this to me, god? Why?”
She didn’t want to look at him anymore. He was a reflection. A Reflection, a memory… the past. Him. Him.
♠ ♠ ♠
