Don't Whisper So Seductively

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:Author Notes:
This is one of those written-last-year stories that I stumbled upon and finally decided to put up. The meaning of the story should be fairly obvious, I think, but if you're still confused, I'll explain it to you if you'd like.

As always, reviews are appreciated. : )


I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not wither'd be;
- Ben Jonson (Public Domain)

Don't do that. Don't sigh, or close your eyes, and open them to a birth of brown. Don't keep that smile away and gone. You know it kills me.

Oh, it kills me. I look at the sun, and can it possibly compare to you? Did a day ever shine so bright in the dreary wide-laced fog before I met you? Was there ever such magnificence? Why was I not divinely informed that such beauty, such perfection, such grace and magnificence and wonder existed? Why did I not find you the moment you were born and watch you, guard you, keep you from the breath of harm?

You should know that you are my life. I believe I have told you before. I believe you are well informed as to how I feel about you… but you could never know the full extent. And oh, does it kill me, the task I have to do now. I have to make you believe me. You have to believe me… but I wish you wouldn't. I wish beyond the hearth of possibility that every word I said to you you took as a lie. I wish you could see past everything I am about to say to you. I wish you understood that this is how things have to be, and I do it because I love you. If there was any other way, some other precaution to take, some form or methodology that could remedy these things… do you not think I would do it? I would sacrifice so much for you—and I am.

But I look at you, and it becomes harder…. You're too delicate. I need to go easy, be simple, say—

No. That would not be effective, as much as it pains me.

I do believe that, if God takes pity upon me at all, one day, you and I will find each other in some other place when I am not such a threat to you. I believe, from what I have been told, that if he does exist, he might grant me this one wish of mine.

But you kill me. Every time you blink, I forget of God. I forget my prayers to someone or something I find it difficult to believe in. I forget the mantra I have spoken in my head.

Oh, so constantly, "Let this not be it." And maybe grace will find me and grant me this.

But who am I to make demands? (Perhaps, maybe I am not demanding… I would like to think I am merely requesting for my eyes to glance upon your youth one more time, if only once, before they close forever.) I hardly deserve this. I have given more than my fair share of evils. It amazes me that someone such as you could possibly be mine. What I would do to protect you…

What I would do to protect you….

Oh. An eyelash. How I wish I could reach out and take it, keep it with me, something to remind me of your dark, deep brown eyes when I am gone. I have heard that you can wish upon these small specks of hair and it may come true? It is yours. Make a wish.

What I wish for you… is what I wish for myself. I wish, by some miracle, you could forget all of this ever happened. I think that that may be difficult, but you are, after all, a human. It should be easier than it will be for me. I doubt I will ever forget.

I wish for you so much. I wish that you would close your lips and look away, keep your eyes open, so that I may gaze upon them but not feel the full intensity of your questioning.

But there is something else I wish. This wish is so magnanimous, so powerful, so overruling to every other wish I could possibly ever dream of making. I wish that this is not goodbye—not really.

These woods are so bland, even the smallest sliver of your pale hand outshines it, and it keeps me captivated. I can only dawdle for so long, though.

"Bella, we're leaving."

That's right.

The words passed by in such a blur, such a ruin, such a viscous call of sadism. I regretted each and every one of them as they passed through my lips, but what could I do? I needed to say them.

You were silent. I closed my lips and left, taking the eyelash quickly. You did not notice.

And I whispered so seductively one last wish.