My back was straight, my gaze forward, ignoring the people who stopped and starred at me. I would not look at them because I did not want to show them the weakness in my eyes. Whenever I saw the light flickering next to a shadow, I almost step into the light and try to feel what he wanted so badly. But I don't.
The light and the dark live as one now- them, with their faboulas light that he died for and me with my shadows that seem to grow darker every time the light shines brighter. Though I did not stare at their bright colors, their beautiful trees and skies, the remains of their so called lamps. I just stayed on my scorched side of the earth, walking the path that those terrible mountains of stones used to stand. And, like I've said before, I do not meet anyones gaze.
Why, you ask? Well, I don't want to show my weakness- as I've also said earlier. But there was so much more. I'm afraid that they will see the loss in my eyes, the torture, the insanity that grows every moment I see the light flickering against my shadows. I don't want them to see the deep emotions I've created, and most of all, I don't want them to see the blood on my hands.
It was everywhere. It spread up my arms, all over my legs and pooled around my knees. It dripped from my hands and was smeared across my cheek where he touched my cheek one last time. The blood is still on my skin, even after countless nights of scrubbing my skin so hard that it bled itself. The dagger sat six feet underground and I dug the hole with my own hands. Call it my punishment.
And after everything is done, I still can not hate him. Or her for that matter. They were in love, just as I was with him. He protected her and cradled her with his own love, just as I tried to do with him. Yes, every time I see her empty face, being patted and stroked by loved ones, I want to grab her pale little neck and wring it out of anger. But I can't because he used to love her, and imagine what he would do to ME if I harmed her! Whenever I do see her, though, I can only stare at her for a moment, press back the tears welling in my eyes, nod and leave as quickly as possible.
No matter how hard I try, I will always see a small part of his love in her.
I can not stand her or myself, because of my dagger, because of the blood, because of my torture and my desperate attempt to hide from people. Why?
Because I pierced my brothers skin- the skin he and I had shared- with my own blade and watched him die as he said his last words to me.
"Place your hand on mine, one last time, and kiss me goodbye. Take the love inside my mind, before I die. Please… don't… cry…"