Resurrect the Sun

So, this is a short story I wrote, and I want to upload it. . . After years of doing this to myself, I've finally realised what the consequences are. The thing is, as it's too late, I know I don't want to die. I want to resurrect the sun, with the guy I love by my side. But it's too late. Anorexia, cutting, and burning didn't free me, nor did they kill me. They trapped me, and mercilessly let me live. However, today's the day I die.


1. Resurrect the Sun


Here I lie, in my hospital bed, covered in crisp, white sheets. A faint beeping keeps me relatively awake, letting me know that I'm not dead yet. I should be dead. I should have died years ago. Anorexia should have killed me already. So, why hasn't it? I don’t know. Maybe it doesn't have enough mercy, to kill me, but just enough hatred to put me in a coma.

Nurses shuffle around me, the faint dripping of something reaching my audacity. There’s a needle in my hand, gradually pumping fluids into me. Maybe that’ll save me. No, it won’t. Nothing can save me. Anorexia is a mental illness, not physical. It has all the side effects of making you an ugly thin shape, gives you brittle hair, and porcelain skin, and God knows what else, but the real damage is in your mind. After all, it’s your mind that convinces you that you’re not skinny enough for this society.

As I lie here, slowly dying, I just think. I think about what I've done. What have I done? I've ruined my life. I thought it was the bullies, ruining my life, but no, it’s me. Austin genuinely cares, and he tried to make an effort with me, but what did I do? I shut him out, just like everyone else. Mentally sick, tearing down my nerves, my barriers, and ripping my emotions away. All I feel now is the aching cramps in my stomach, and the horrible soreness in my head.

Someone walks in, someone other than a doctor, or a nurse. I instantly know, as they sit beside me, silently sobbing, that it’s Austin. Another pain hits me, tightness in my chest, as he cries. I can imagine his blue eyes, charged with enthusiasm, becoming dull, and lifeless, with a lacy coating of salt water. My lungs feel tight, and my heart monitor slows, as I have trouble with breathing. No one makes an attempt to fix it; they all know I'm dying, too.

Carefully, Austin clutches my hand to his chest, right over his stuttering heart beat. It’s solid, but inconsistent, with his mixture of strong emotions. I want to join him, with the crying, but not in remorse of my life slowly wandering away. I want to cry for what I've done. I'm an idiot, for creating this catastrophe. I should have drawn that razor across my throat, not my wrist.

Austin gently caresses my cheek, with his thumb, still holding my hand to his heart. My ceramic skin must feel cold, and silky, under his burning touch. In a haze, I feel him smooth my hair out of my face. My soft, wavy hair, the colour of the rising sun, must be fragile, and streaked with feeble dryness. I wonder how my eyes would look, if they were open. Instead of emerald, they’d be ice; plain glaciers, reaching out to anyone who could help me.

Quietly, Austin leans in, his lips brushing my ear, “I pray for morning, I swear I’ll never let you die…”

His voice cracks and it’s hoarse from his throat being dry. It takes a few moments for me to place the words, until I realise that they’re from my favourite song – Resurrect the Sun. It’s the chorus, but his voice isn’t strong, like the singer. His voice is weak, with no will to carry on, but he does; for me.

“These saints within us can bring this moment back to life,” he gradually continues.

If I was awake, trust me, I’d be crying, just like Austin is now. He takes a few deep breaths, and rakes his mind for the next line, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. Softly, his dark brown hair, tinted with blond, tickles my jaw and cheek, reminding me that I am still alive - just.

“And my heart’s held high,” he pauses “With this battle cry, I’ll march on,” once more, he strokes my hair.

Now, for the last line. Another deep breath fills his lungs, just as my heart monitor becomes even slower. This is it, isn't it? I'm finally dying. This is what I've wanted for so long. To be gone; to be free; to be me. But death doesn't bring freedom, it brings the opportunity of being locked in a black box forever more. Starving myself, cutting my arms, and burning my legs didn't bring my death. I brought my death. And now, as I lie here in forced silence, the one I love whispering my favourite lyrics to me, I realise something… I don’t want to die.

“On the horizon, we will resurrect the sun…”

And with those last three words replaying in my mind, in Austin’s sweet tone, my heart monitor stops completely. I wish I could resurrect the sun… 

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