The pain. The horrible, screaming pain, tearing my flesh apart. I couldn't scream, I had too much blood in my throat. But I could hear him. The voice that normally was calm and sooth, now it was screaming out in pure agony. I could feel his hand twist and turn against my stomach by the heat. His touch, the smell of his skin and the tenderness of his skin against mine, oh how I missed that. What wouldn't I do to embrace him now? There was nothing I wanted more than to kiss him one last time before we drifted into the darkness together. But I couldn't. The pain had immobilized my body, all I could do was to turn my head and look at him through the flames.
The fire had started to burn the fabric of his balaclava to threads. I could see his skin, red and burning. His shades were melting into his eyes and I couldn't even imagine the pain he must be in. I tried to call out his name but the fire had destroyed my lips and the blood in my mouth boiled.
I couldn't kiss him. I couldn't hold him. I couldn't even talk to him. And I didn't want to die watching him twist and turn in pain. My own pain I could take any day, but I couldn't take his. So I turned to my memories. Times when the world didn't burn, when our leaders were loyal and when no pain kept us apart.
My Back Pages by The Byrds filled the room with its melancholy sound. The sound of gunfire was heard from a far distance. I stared up at the ugly gray ceiling. I lay outstretched on the bed with my head in his lap. I listened to the lyrics as he gently stroked his hand through my short honey brown hair.
"This song is so depressing," I stated and met his emerald eyes with my amber ones.
"Well then you should hear the original version by Dylan," he said with a small chuckle and caressed my jaw with his free hand.
I didn't answer but instead just looked at him. I wondered why he always covered his face behind that scary, skull patterned balaclava. It couldn't possibly be because he felt like he needed to hide something.
I licked my lips and reached out my hand to touch his handsome features. With looks like that he probably could have any woman or man he wanted, that's at least how I saw him. In my mind I wondered why he'd chosen me, the clumsy, young Sergeant with a bug as a call sign. He must be crazy.
I let my fingers trace down the two grand scars covering the left side of his face. My actions seemed to make him uncomfortable but he didn't stop me. My fingers followed the shortest of the scars all the way down to where it ended by his lips. I licked my lips again and realized how much I longed to be closer to him.
He smiled at me as I sat up, straddling his lap. That warm smile of his that he only gives to me could brighten up a whole day.
I let my arms slid round his neck and my fingers started playing with his short black hair by pure instinct.
I felt his strong arms round my waist as I closed the distance between our lips. His firm and warm mouth always felt welcome against mine, and they fitted together like they were created for this purpose only.
I was the first one to pull back when my oxygen level had sunken too low. I rested my forehead against his and stared right into his beautiful but forever melancholic eyes.
"I love you Sir," I stated with nothing but honesty and compassion in my voice.
"You're such a girl Bug," he said and rolled his eyes.
I was about to say something back when his lips once again met mine and I felt how I was pulled forward down on the bed.
Next to me he was still now, my superior, my friend, my love. His face was turned towards me and I realized that he just as me had forced himself to look at his love for the last time. The heat still made his muscles twist and turn but I could see that he was no longer there. And it was first then I realized I couldn't breathe. The world slowly grew darker and darker. As I fell to my eternal sleep I let my thoughts drift back to those times. Times when two lovers kissed in pure happiness to the lyrics of a sad song and the sound of war. Times when two lovers lived. And so I died with a smile on my burning face.
Someone told me here on FF that I always write so depressing endings... well I can't help it! I'm a depressing person ;) Seriously, my friends call me The Wet Dog because I always look so ashamed and sad (like a dog tend to do when it's wet). XD